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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26547226">Dance of Swords</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeriel/pseuds/Lumeriel'>Lumeriel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossdressing, F/F, F/M, Homoeroticism, Incest, M/M, Politics, Prophecy, Trans Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:47:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>54,538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26547226</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeriel/pseuds/Lumeriel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Faced with the prophecy made by Námo, High King Finwë will take a decision to protect his family and his people.</p><p> </p><p>Years later, the King of the Noldor will discover that it is not possible to flee from fate. No matter which path you take, the prophecies will always be fulfilled.</p><p>In the midst of power struggles between the main Noldorin factions, the designs of the Valar, the personal interests of loved ones... Fëanáro and Nolofinwë will suffer the consequences of their father's decision.</p><p> </p><p>And swords dance between two brothers, invoking war.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fëanor | Curufinwë/Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Statement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I don't get any benefit, other than having fun, from writing this story. The locations, events and characters created by J. R. R. Tolkien belong to him and my interpretation of them does not seek to disrespect his work, that of his son Christopher Tolkien or that of those people who have dedicated their lives to the study of his extensive work. On the contrary, in my own peculiar way, it is a form of homage. If anyone is offended by my presentation of facts and characters, I apologize and beg you to ignore this work as if it never existed.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>On the other hand, the original characters introduced in the plot are entirely mine, as well as the political and social elements that contribute to the development of the story. Although in other works of mine in this fandom with my own elements I have stated that whoever wishes is free to use them, this is not the case.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>For the creation of personal names, as well as the names of political parties, locations, official titles, among others, that do not belong to the canon, I used on-line dictionaries of Quenya, the Generator of Elven Names and the book 'La Lengua de los Elfos', by Luis Gonzáles Baixauli.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>A very important point:</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The tradition of the Fëar atta among the elves is very loosely based on the tradition of the 'Two Spirits' of American aboriginal cultures, especially North America. The way in which this tradition is represented throughout history does not suppose, in any case, a faithful image of a tradition for which I have deep respect, but for which I have little documentation. I recommend that readers seek more information in this regard and do not take my interpretation as an authoritative opinion. You can start with the following links:</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <a href="https://opinionbreve.wordpress.com/2017/03/29/ocho-cosas-que-debes-saber-acerca-de-las-personas-dos-espiritus/"> https://opinionbreve.wordpress.com/2017/03/29/ocho-cosas-que-debes-saber-acerca-de-las-personas-dos-espiritus/ </a>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <a href="https://greennetworkproject.org/es/2019/06/04/dos-espiritus-un-corazon-cinco-generos/"> https://greennetworkproject.org/es/2019/06/04/dos-espiritus-un-corazon-cinco-generos/ </a>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Finally, I recommend reading ‘<a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24649738/chapters/59558059">Dance of Swords (Annexes)</a>’ on Ao3, where I collected data and images corresponding to this story.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Any comments will be appreciated and answered.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Part One: Lady of Swords</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A prophecy</span>
</p>
<p>
  
  
  <span>a king</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>a mother</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>the gods who laugh</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>                       A prince</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>                                 a mystery</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>the power of the earth</span>
</p>
<p>
  
  
  <span>a star of fire</span>
</p>
<p>
  
  
  <span>an ice gem</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>a sword that dances.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span></span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>.</span>
  <em>
    <span>.. and she dresses in charms when undressing clothes ...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Abu-l-Hasan’Ali ibn Jaruf, 13th century</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 1.1 City of Rumors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>Year 1452 of the Two Trees,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Tirion-upon-Túna</em>
  </b>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The music of trumpets interrupted the palace stillness. It was that calm hour that followed the second meal, in which most of the work stopped and many elves gave themselves up to rest.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The two notes were repeated and a guard ran from the sentry box to the north door of the wall to turn the handle that opened it. The two sheets of wood with silver-studded stars were barely parted and the rhythmic pounding of hooves flooded the courtyard.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The white horse, harnessed in silver and navy blue, crossed the threshold and stopped, shaking its head. Behind him, a snow leopard entered.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>A groom came from the stables to take charge of the horse, whose rider leaped gracefully to the ground.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Let him walk a bit before you put him in the cubicle, boy," the rider suggested. “Rochallor is nervous today. And Lossë is not helping,” he added with a stern look in the direction of the big cat.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The snow leopard - a female in her early youth - did not take the hint and in two agile leaps, she went to meet the elf who at that moment was leaving through a side door of the building.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Father!” The newcomer called.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The rider patted the neck of his steed and responded with a slight bow to the groom's bow before turning his attention to his son. He raised an eyebrow as he saw Lossë jump around the young elf like a cub.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"You spoil her, Findekáno," he pointed out sternly. “Don't give her treats. She was very impertinent this morning.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Maybe because you got her out of bed when Telperion wasn't even declining," Findekáno replied as he gave the leopard another sandwich.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>High Prince Nolofinwë looked at his first-born and his pet and started toward the palace.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you run down to play with Lossë?"  he claimed. “You're almost an adult now, my son.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"I hurried downstairs to see you before you enter the Council Hall! And have no chance to see your face until the last meal, oh His Royal Highness High Prince Nolofinwë.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Alkarinehtar!" He used his maternal name in a warning tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes father?” The adolescent feigned innocence, raising his beautiful blue eyes to him.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Nolofinwë raised an eyebrow. With an impatient sigh, he started walking again, accompanied by the leopard.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why did you urge you to see me before the Council?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Maitimo and Canafinwë are here. They arrived with Laurelin's first hour. Morifinwë accompanies them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why should I know that before the Council? I will certainly see your cousins at dinner.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Moryo is going to present a proposal to the Guild Representatives. Maitimo told me.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Nolofinwë did not stop walking. He made his way through the kitchens, getting the servants to halt their work to bow as he passed. The Chef de Cuisine waited by the door to make a deep bow …</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“High Prince…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Lady Loralassë," the prince replied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Queen Indis has invited your wife to join her for dinner in her chambers and hopes you will join. This is the menu if you approve.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I suppose the queen ... my mother ... saw that," he pointed out without making a move to take the sheet that the female handed him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Her Majesty wanted to ensure that everything is to your liking."</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Nolofinwë has yet to take the paper.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Whatever the queen has chosen …”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Findekáno stepped between them and took the sheet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Just make sure you make a splash of hotter sauce and double all the candy," he said after glancing at the menu. “And save me from those sweets: I don't think they will include them on the Noldóran table.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Loralassë recovered her parchment with a smile and phrases of thanks.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Nolofinwë was finally able to leave the kitchens and find himself in the corridors that led into the palace interior.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"You have adapted quickly and well to being a prince," he commented with covert sarcasm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Findekáno pouted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You too. Except when it comes to Grandma Indis.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ah! You have also adapted to that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That Queen Indis is your grandmother."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And your mother.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Nolofinwë ascended the ladder to his chambers.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"What's your cousin's proposal about?" he asked, changing the subject.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exchange of experiences between Guilds. Morifinwë considers that it would be convenient for artisans to participate, or at least have knowledge, of the process of obtaining raw materials.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Nolofinwë gave a lopsided smile as he heard his son recite the words that someone else had evidently said to him. Nelyafinwë, for sure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Your cousin's words, I suppose."</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"You underestimate me, dear father," he complained, putting a hand to his chest.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"I value you in fair measure. And Morifinwë is right. However, I doubt that the Council would be pleased with the idea. The domain of its activity, exclusively, is the power of each Guild.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That is why Moryo wants your support."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My support? The support of a prince inventor two years ago? A prince that nobody believes in? Who does no one respect?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Findekáno bit his lower lip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"The… Kemendili respect you. And the Ingolmor …”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The Valaduri control the Council. Mahtan Aulendil is the most influential Councilor and has never set foot in a mine since arriving in Aman. They will not allow …”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"At least give it a try, okay? Moryo's idea is good. We should support it. You should support it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why? Why should I put myself in the Valaduri’s sights? Why look for problems that I get nothing from?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Findekáno watched him for a few seconds.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Because that's what Helkemmírë would have done."</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Nolofinwë clenched his jaw until a muscle throbbed at his temple.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>-------------------- // -------------------------- // ---------------------</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Queen Indis placed the handkerchief she had begun to embroider that morning on her lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The knock on the door was repeated and the queen raised her voice to respond with an invitation to enter.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Your Majesty," the newcomer greeted, bowing.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The queen put the embroidery aside and waited for the elf to rise to his full height to speak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Ektëllo," she said softly, "they've been busy days at the Guild, apparently."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Just the usual, my lady."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Is that so?" She raised her dark eyebrows. “So what has kept you from coming to visit me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The lack of something important to consume your attention on. The daily feuds between Guilds and Masters are not to be a priority issue for the Queen of the Noldor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Priority, yes; new ... unfortunately no”,  Indis clarified. “I suppose your presence is due to the fact that something </span>
  <em>
    <span>"new"</span>
  </em>
  <span> has emerged.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of answering in words, the young man reached under the lapel of the azure robe and drew out a folded sheet, which he held out to the queen.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Indis hesitated for a second before reaching out and accepting the paper. One glance was enough to see that it was one of those illustrated brochures that circulated in the city with news and entertainment. With a raised eyebrow, she quickly scanned the cover of the brochure before looking disdainfully at her fingers stained with red and black ink - it wasn't even a good print.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"What am I supposed to be seeing, Ektëllo?" she inquired softly. “You know that I prefer a good adventure novel or the poetry of Elemmírë before the Great Journey than stooping to follow those ... serialized novels that circulate in the suburban neighborhoods.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The young elf pursed his lips in a fine line for a few moments.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"You underestimate me, my queen," he pointed out with a certain offended tinkle in his tone, causing Queen Indis's lips to curve slightly upward. “Although some serials have some merit as a distraction, I would not bring any up in your presence. However, this… poet… Nandarion… seems to have something to say, as he often repeats it. The third page, my lady. Please.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The queen narrowed her blue eyes suspiciously, but she followed the instructions of the young courtier. She looked for the third page of the brochure and found an article authored by the one named ‘Nandarion’ - clearly a pseudonym.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘What has happened to the light of our hours of rest? What has become of the one who transported us to the past with the wave of her graceful hands? Where is hiding the one that gave joy to our hearts and reminded us that we once danced under the stars, between steel and obsidian? Where is </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>our Hyandawen</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>'Nobody has an answer. Not even the Lady of the Lake, with her eyes reminiscent of twilight, can - or will - tell us. Hyandawen has been swallowed up by fog, by silence, as were the brothers who did not abandon the truth of Cuiviénen. No one seems to remember her, except those of us who were waiting for Telperion to arrive to see her dance.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>'If someone asks about Hyandawen, they only get silence for an answer. However, many of us - those of us who dare to ask - remember that before disappearing, our sister had attracted the attention of a certain person. The presence of the Royal House had been noted in The Lakes in the days when Hyandawen gave us her dance, more and more frequently. Was this what caused the absence of our beloved sister? Did our Hyandawen provoke the wrath of any of the virtuous Valaduri? Was it the fiery gazes that the Maiden of Ice and Steel attracted that caused her to fall from grace? '</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Indis pursed her lips. She closed the brochure and held it in her hands, fighting the desire to crush it, to reduce it to dust.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"How many of these circulate?" She asked after a moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"About a thousand or fifteen hundred a week. But they started out with a few dozen and the print runs have been growing. Especially since… Nandarion publishes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Does he always post these… opinions?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He has only recently become interested in the fate of ...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lady Hyandawen</span>
  </em>
  <span>. As far as I could see, he was not usually a regular in the House of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Massanië</span>
  </em>
  <span> Morivanessë. His interest in the fate of Hyandawen appears to have been prompted by comments from the regulars of Morivanessë's house.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Indis rolled up the brochure thoughtfully as she went to the window.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Morivanessë would not incite this curiosity," she reflected. “She is too… involved to cause any disturbance. Someone wants to stir the waters.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I think so, my lady."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"My husband -has the king seen these brochures?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think that Master Rúmil has had the opportunity to see them on several occasions, but I don't know if he has shared them with our Noldóran.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well. It's better if Finwë doesn't make a fuss about this. He… and his… Valaduri friends.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Ektëllo nodded even if the queen was now looking out through the glass window.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Indis raised her head slightly. The room she was in faced the inner courtyard of the palace and from there she could see the north door, through which her son must appear at any moment.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>As if she had called him with the thought, two trumpet blasts were heard and Indis saw a guard running to the door to open it. A moment later, Nolofinwë arrived and descended from his white steed in an ethereal leap.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile raised the corners of the Noldor queen's mouth. Her eldest son had the grace of a teenager, although he had long passed the age of majority. His long black hair was simply tied back, unadorned, and his clothes -an almost nocturnal navy blue -outlined a slender and powerful body.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone ran over to the High Prince and Indis's smile softened, opening wide.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Findekáno was the spitting image of his father, having inherited from the beautiful Anairë only the curls in which his abundant hair rebelled.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The queen watched father and son converse as the snow leopard leaped around them. After a few seconds, she saw them heading toward the building and lost sight of them. She consoled herself with the thought that in a few hours she would enjoy Nolofinwë's presence at dinner.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>As she turned around, sighing, she felt again the paper she was holding rolled up in her hand and she bit the inside of her cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"I want to meet this Nandarion, Ektëllo," she stated firmly. “We must know how many people actually care about Hyandawen's whereabouts.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 1.2 Written in the Stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>Year 1190 of the Two Trees</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Tirion-upon-Túna</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Indis took a few steps, with effort. A wince of pain twisted her beautiful face and her tight lips barely contained the moans that tore at her throat. With one hand, she supported her bulging belly as she reached for the couch to collapse into it.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The pains had started several hours ago and as the Telperion bloom drew near, they had worsened. The contractions gave her only minutes of rest between one and the other. Soon her son would be here.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>A flash of light illuminated the room, shattering the soft silver light of the Valar tree.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The queen frowned as she laid a hand on the arm of the chair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Valar sent her a storm to remind her of what she preferred to forget.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>She winced in pain and spun around, flopping down on the soft cushions. The soaked nightgown clung to her shaking legs as she stroked her belly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"Just a little more, little one," she gasped. “Just a little more.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The Lady of Yavanna would not be long in coming to attend the delivery. Indis pursed her lips, hoping that the midwife would linger forever, that she would never come ... that Rúmil would not find her. Under other circumstances, Ingwë Ingweron's niece would have prayed to the Valar, but she knew they would not help her this time. In another time, she would have prayed to Mother Earth, but supposed that, at this moment, only anger would she get from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moan that accompanied the contraction turned into a helpless sob at the approaching footsteps.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The bedroom door swung open and Finwë ran toward her to take the queen's icy hand in his own.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"She's here, my love," he reassured her, stroking her temples, brushing away the golden curls that clung to her skin. “The midwife is here. Do not worry.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Indis gritted her teeth, roaring in pain and rage; but the only thing that came from her pale lips was a groan as her son - her firstborn - struggled to reach the world.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Ten months ago</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It is the first time she has seen Finwë bow his head to someone. It is the first time that she has leaned in so much that her forehead almost touched the ground. Over them are the lifeless glances of the Valar, the kings of the world.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Indis banishes to the back of her mind the memory of all she has given up for the love of Finwë - a love she has dreamed of for too long to turn back now. For a second - a flash in time - she wonders what Serindë would think if she saw her now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You ask our approval to marry this female, Finwë Noldóran."</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Manwë's voice is cold as the winds that blow in Taniquetil. Indis shudders -a few words, and the King of Arda has turned their love into a note in a research book, into a transaction, into a thing that disgusts just imagining it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Indis and I love each other, my lord," Finwë repeats in a firm but humble voice. “Joy has returned to my heart thanks to her love.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"But your heart is committed to Míriel's. The Children of Ilúvatar bound their souls for all eternity.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Indis senses Finwë's hesitation in the way he flexes his fingers over the hem of his robe.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Míriel will always live in my memories. For many years I have awaited her return; but she… she has decided never to walk among us again, oh sovereign.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For a moment, Manwë seems almost surprised that anyone could think such nonsense. Her glass eyes stray from Finwë for the first time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Is that true, Nurufantur?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"It certainly is."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Námo's voice is cutting, heavy as a slab that marks the end of the road.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Indis shudders again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Suddenly, a warm breeze brushes the back of the vanya, seeps under the silk of her dress. The scent of wildflowers fills her nose and lowers her eyelids. A hand caresses her hair, glides along the outline of her face and takes her chin.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When Indis opens her eyes, she finds herself face to face with Vána's dark foliage eyes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Valië stares at her, like a curious fawn.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"There is a life growing in you," she declares.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Indis blinks, confused, feeling the blush rise to her neck, her cheeks, her pointed ears.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There is a movement of flights and wings when all the Ainur are now fixed on her. Indis can feel their gazes scrutinizing her, piercing her flesh, searching for that thread of life that Vána has seen before anyone else.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Finwë looks at her with a puzzled expression and Indis wants to tell him that she had no idea, that it can only have a few days, a few hours …</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Vána smiles as she takes the she-elf's face to force her to look only at her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You will have a beautiful wedding, Acairis.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The daughter of the First Clan almost felt her heart skip as she wondered if that would be the last time she would hear her name like that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"The wedding has our approval," Varda announces as she rests her pale hand on her husband's. “A prince of the Noldor will not be born without the sacred Laws of Ilúvatar having blessed the union of their parents.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Finwë bows, full of gratitude. Indis is about to imitate him when Vána's warm hands release her chin; but before she can move, a black and silver figure materializes before her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A chill runs through the skin of the future queen as she looks up at the veiled face of the Guardian of Souls.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Námo's features are barely discernible through the gray silk that rests on his head and runs down to his shoulders. The Vala raises a chalk-white hand and presses it weakly against the female's flat belly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"You will have a beautiful wedding, Indis of the Vanyar," he repeats Vána's words. “And you will have beautiful children. And you will have more than what you asked for.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Namo, what do you see?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The voice of the queen of the stars gives voice to the fears of Indis, who, however, would prefer not to know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But it is too late.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"I see a king… a king forged of ice and steel. A king made of resentment and pain. I see a warrior rising against the darkness amid the fire. Death and betrayal pave his way to songs… A sword… I see a sword that dances between two brothers, calling for war.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Indis feels the urge to cover the Vala's mouth with her hands, to stifle his words. But it is too late. They have all heard. </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>Finwë has heard.</em>
  </b>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Present</b>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Lying on the bed, Indis watched the baby. He was asleep, with his little hands clenched. Dark curls clung to his tiny head and his breath lifted his chest. He was so small that the queen feared he might get lost in the blue silk cloth that sheltered him. He was so beautiful that the queen feared he would disappear like a dream.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The bedroom door opened; but Indis ignored it, stroking her son's plump cheek with the tip of a finger.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"My dear, it's time."</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Indis restrained the instinct to turn roaring, fangs bared, like a beast. Instead, she remained silent, stroking the baby.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Darling, we already talked about this and we agreed. It's time.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," she finally said, half rising to face her husband. “We don't have to. He is our son, Finwë. Look. He's so little! How we go to…?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know we can't… It's for everyone's sake."</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your son’s!” She roars, eyes red with rage. “It's for the sake of Fëanáro. Nothing else. You don't think of anything else, no one else!”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Finwë pursed his lips and drew back.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Indis, we agreed that this was best for everyone. We cannot allow Mandos's words to come true. We cannot allow one day to have war in our house.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"There won't be!" She said desperately. “I will teach him. I will raise our baby to be loyal to his brother, Curufinwë. What would he want the throne for? Or be the Crown Prince? We live in Aman, in the Blessed Kingdom! There is no danger or death here. You will always be king …”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You know there is death here," the elf reminded him grimly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You will not follow the path of Míriel! Don't take him away from me, Finwë. He's my son. I have had him in my belly. I have felt how he grew, how his fëa was tied to his flesh ... You cannot take him from me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Indis, the decision is made. Rúmil is waiting. The child will be fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” She screeched as he leaned down and scooped the creature up in his arms.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The king of the Noldor was clear of the bed before Indis could stop him.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't strain," he ordered. “You could hurt yourself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Let me kiss him, one last kiss!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Better not," Finwë denied, heading for the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Arakano! His name is Arakáno!”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Finwë stopped and shot a glare over his shoulder at his wife.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We agreed that we would not give him a name, Indis."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Too late," she laughed, collapsing on the bed, exhausted. “You can't take his name off him now.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The Noldóran grimaced and hastily pushed the silk garment aside to inspect the boy's body. A curse left his lips when he confirmed that Indis was right: on the boy's lower belly, a slight stain began to form, little by little defining itself in ink-like strokes.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 1.3 The Shinning Court</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Year 1421 of the Two Trees</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Tirion-upon-Túna</b>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The guards posted on either side of the city's North Gate squared off as they saw the rider gallop closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The prince is coming home," commented one, without changing his upright posture.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"In time for the engagement ball."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Are they already engaged?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"They are making sure little Arafinwë does not marry a craftswoman," his companion hissed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Lady Nerdanel is a good female."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Any female that has given birth seven times is a good female," the other smiled and immediately became serious since the steed was already a few meters away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro restrained his horse's race and forced the animal to take a short, calm stride as he passed through the door. Both guards remained motionless until the Crown Prince had entered the little-traveled avenue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Magnificent horse," commented the guard who thought Nerdanel was a good woman based on the number of her pregnancies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro continued riding until he reached the gates of the royal palace. Before them, he paused for a moment, bucking his horse, to observe the tall towers of gold and glass. With a low growl, he spurred the steed back through the arch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tirion's royal palace had been built from and around the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mindon Eldalieva,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the most impressive work of ancient Eldarin architecture, just after the arrival of the two First Clans in the Blessed Lands. Ingwë and Finwë had designed together the plans for the crystal and ivory tower that towered above it all. Although not lacking in the grace of later Noldor works, anyone who viewed the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eldalieva</span>
  </em>
  <span> without the addition of the palace's white and gold walls would consider it </span>
  <em>
    <span>crude</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro liked Mindon Eldalieva. He had been barely a teenager in his twenties when he contemplated the initial plans - kept in glass urns in the Royal Library - and said to Rúmil, marveling: "It's a spear!" Rúmil had laughed, satisfied with his sharpness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Years later, the prince learned that the Mindon Eldalieva actually mimicked much more than a spear. It was a beacon-spear, reminiscent of the dark times on the Other Side of the Sea. And perhaps that is why it was natural for all the Noldor to have a habit of searching for the tower as soon as they saw the city.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the top of the Mindon Eldalieva was the Chamber of Stars, where the young prince spent so many hours, learning about constellations that could barely be seen from the white shores of Alqualondë, constellations that he would probably never see personally.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Be that as it may, Fëanáro still sought out the Eldalieva every time he returned to Tirion. Like any of his compatriots.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro dismounted and threw the reins at the young servant who had come to meet him. He entered the building through the large door that opened onto the inner courtyard and walked through the intermediate rooms with long strides, hurrying to his apartments, located in the east wing, where once the rooms that the Noldóran shared with his first wife were located. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After Míriel's "swoon" and while his mourning lasted, Finwë continued to occupy the rooms that they both inhabited on happy days. One day the king made new rooms in the west wing and moved out. Looking back, Fëanáro told himself that he must have noticed at that moment that the wound in his father's heart was healing, that the well of his tears consecrated to Míriel was drying up, that his hopes turned more and more towards the slopes of Taniquetil -and less towards the calm of Lórien. When Finwë got married, for a time he wanted the east wing to become the 'children's wing'; but Fëanáro had shown his complete opposition to allowing his mother to give up another inch in that house: he seized the entire wing for him. Either way, Finwë's hopes were unfounded: for nearly ten years since the Valar blessed their union, Indis's womb remained dry. For a time, Fëanáro came to fear that his thought had attracted such emptiness to the marriage; but finally, the queen announced that she was expecting a child.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro remembered the day that Indis announced her pregnancy before half a court. He remembered his father's surprise, the fierceness with which the queen held her head up… defiantly. Míriel's son had taken it as a warning to him; but after more than two hundred springs after the birth of Arafinwë Ingoldo, the second prince of the Noldor did not seem at all interested in usurping the rights of Finwë's firstborn. Nor did Indis seem to nurture her son's possible aspirations.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Ingoldo.</span>
  </em>
  <span> To this day, Fëanáro wondered what his father's second wife would see in the future of Arafinwë to give him that name. The young prince was the complete opposite of what his name evoked: blond hair, soft blue eyes, delicately golden skin. Nor had he inherited the arrogance and thirst to create that identified the Noldor. The two sons of Finwë couldn't be more different from each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The crown prince wasted little time cleaning himself, refreshing his torso and face after throwing his shirt and leather jerkin aside. Skillfully, he untangled his raven-like hair and braided it, sealing the tip with a red silk ribbon. He chose a maroon tunic with gold and hematite clasps, matching the ring and diadem he took from the jumbled contents of the casket on the vanity in the bathroom. He did not change his earrings, leaning toward the simple gold hoops that commonly adorned his ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he approached the Music Room, the melody of a rock crystal flute dueling a fifteen-string harp intensified. From the first chord that reached his ears, he knew that Canafinwë was not playing. It was at that moment that he considered that he had not notified his two older sons of his return. They might not be in the palace at this hour: from Finwë's last letter, the two princes appeared to spend considerable time away from court after their various duties were completed. As soon as he walked through the double-paned door to the living room, he realized that his doubts had been in vain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fiery red hair of his firstborn stood out above most of those present, even if the Noldor were of good stature. Nelyafinwë had inherited golden skin and fiery hair from her maternal family; however, the eyes that turned to look for Fëanáro were the same beaten silver hue of Finwë's family.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just a few steps from his older brother, Canafinwë's mouth pouted, bored with a conversation that evidently revolved around politics or economics. The second son of Fëanáro had not inherited any physical traits from Nerdanel. From raven hair to mercurial eyes to graceful athletic build, Canafinwë was so much like his father that he could have passed for his brother - much better than Arafinwë, that's for sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a crooked smile, Fëanáro walked over to where his sons were.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both young men fixed their eyes on their father and their faces, already beautiful, lit up with frank smiles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dinner was quiet. Finwë had greeted his son with an effusive embrace as if much more than the three months that the prince had been exploring the north had passed, as if he had feared he would not return.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Queen Indis had not participated in the dinner, preferring to stay in her chambers with her maids.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Although satisfied not to have to endure the presence of his stepmother, Fëanáro could not help noticing the absence of another regular guest at the royal family dinners.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Where is Rúmil?" Asked the Crown Prince, seated to his father's right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finwë opened his mouth to reply, but a slight shadow passed over his forehead as he closed his mouth without saying a word.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Today Master Rúmil and Lady Telperien are receiving in their home," reported an elf sitting across the table, his soft hazy blue eyes flashing with a tone of… mischief?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro tried to remember his name because, by the ease with which he expressed himself, he seemed to be almost as common a guest as Rúmil himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Receiving?” The prince repeated with interest. “I have not received an invitation to one of their… meetings.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why would our prince want to be invited to a meeting where the main topic is so close to heresy?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, Fëanáro frowned as he half-turned to look at his father. Finwë shrugged, as if suppressing a sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Great Lady Vardilmë is… passionate about the subject," the king explained calmly. “I do not believe that my old friend seeks by his talks to foment a rebellion against our lords.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But his sister definitely does," the she-elf insisted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro raised an eyebrow, evoking the image of Telperien, always smiling and placid. She, a rebel? A heretic?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Lady Telperien can be a little ... crazy; but she has no ill intentions, ” Finwë insisted, and from his tone, his son guessed that this conversation was repeated too often at this table. “Anyway, my son, tomorrow you will see Rúmil in the Council …”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro almost snorted at the latent hope in his father's words. In each and every one of his stays in the palace, Fëanáro evaded his father's efforts by tempting him to take a position on the Council. While ignoring the following phrases of the king - still about the immense joy that would be to have his presence and knowledge in the next meeting - the Crown Prince decided that he would get Rúmil to invite him to one of those "heretical" evenings at his home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After dinner, Fëanáro managed to evade his father, claiming not to have still rested, he went after his sons only to find that, instead of them, it was the elf he did not know his name who was waiting under the archway to the hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The princes are gone, Your Highness," the young elf reported, bowing his head. “They were in a hurry. Dinner went on longer than usual. Precisely today.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you know where they went ...uh...?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Artamir, Your Highness," he facilitated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro raised both eyebrows, touched by the young's ease.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Did we meet before ... Artamir?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I was apprenticed to Madame Hyellemaitë when you were finishing your apprenticeship with Master Mahtan. I am… the new Representative of the Jewelers Guild. Since a week ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I wouldn't guess," the prince scoffed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Your children and I… we are good friends. Which helps prevent stuttering in the presence of the Noldóran. At least not much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The stutter, Your Highness. So… I'm invited to Lady Telperien’s gathering. Do you want to accompany me? And learn about the heretical theories of Lady Telperien that so displease the venerable Great Lady Vardilmë?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro decided that this young might please him. If he was sincere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite the fears and displeasure of the Great Lady of the Maiden of Varda, the house that Rúmil and her sister shared on one side of the Fountain Square was quite crowded. Artamir explained to Fëanáro that the attendance was due to the hosts often bringing together members of different Guilds, especially those with novel ideas. More than one recent engineering project or a work of art had taken its first steps in those rooms. Behind the engineers and artists, it did not take long to join the merchants who wanted their name to be heard and sought to associate themselves with works that would go down in posterity, lending their pockets to geniuses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the door, they were greeted by a young woman wearing the lilac and gray habit of the Students of the Academy of Languages, founded by Rúmil and Fëanáro himself. Upon seeing the Crown Prince, the maid had flushed red as she bowed awkwardly that caused Artamir to laugh out loud.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That wasn't kind at all," the prince pointed out when they were away from the girl.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Your Highness is right," agreed the jeweler. “But it is that when I saw her, it was as if I saw myself sixty years ago. I, too, almost got tangled in my feet and fell when I first saw you at Mahtan Aulendil's House.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro was not bothered by the words. He was used to being the center of such admiration, whether for his beauty or his talent. With a pat on the young man's shoulder, they continued to enter the audience.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The prince recognized on a couch, surrounded by several elves of both sexes, the Representative of the Musicians Guild, one of the oldest members of the Council. Lindissë wore the characteristic green and white of her Guild and wore honey-colored hair woven with golden pearls cultured in Alqualondë. Seeing Fëanáro, the lady bowed her head before turning her attention to the elf who was leaning over the back of her seat and whispering something to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro made out his old guardian at a window, surrounded by so many people that Rúmil's white crown was barely visible. Rúmil retained, like all Eldar, the timeless beauty of his features; but his hair was totally white for as long as the prince could remember. The master claimed it was a common trait in Coivienéni - white hair that seemed to have stolen the light from the stars. Many had dyed their hair white to be invisible to the Shadowhunters, but that had been a long time, and the stories of the Waters of Awakening were no longer even remembered. Or so the Valaduri intended.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The prince was about to cross the room to approach Rúmil when he sensed that someone was heading towards him. He turned to the person and his smile widened, recognizing the ‘heretical and rebellious’ Lady Telperien.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I did not expect to find you in my halls tonight, Fëanáro," the female said as she reached his side.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I didn't even know what you received in your salons, Telperien." He raised an eyebrow. “Was my invitation lost?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I didn't even know you had returned to Tirion. Was my letter lost?” She remedied it, also mimicking his expression.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro laughed, relaxed and offered his arm to the hostess.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Telperien hung on his elbow and with her other hand, took a fold of her skirt, helping herself walk. Her hair - as white as her brother's - was loose over her breasts, unadorned. The dress bare her shoulders and the neckline descended down the back to the point where the curve was hinted at.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They made their way to a table covered in refreshments, after Fëanáro spotted Artamir deep in animated conversation with a female dressed in the same brown as him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How was your trip?” Telperien asked. “Will we have a new book? Or a map?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Planes, actually. I am going to build a castle.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A castle? Not a palace?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The north is no place for pleasure mansions. The weather is… wild there. No, I will build a castle, a fortress against the winds of winter and the storms of summer. And a huge forge. Greater than Mahtan's.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Mhn… So you plan to move there and completely ignore your father's efforts to sit on the Council and deal with its debates."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro arched an eyebrow, glancing at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Did you ever think he could convince me?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Not for a second," she agreed, shaking her head. “But you should ask your wife and children for their opinion. I don't think they are very willing to leave Tirion permanently.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Nelyo can continue his diplomatic work for as long as he wants. I know that Turcafinwë will be happy to leave town and ignore all the etiquette that the Court carries and Moryo -I'm not even sure what Morifinwë wants or what he's inclined to. Curvo is still too young.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And Macalaurë? Don't you consider Macalaurë in your plans?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Canafinwë will probably follow Nelyo as he decides."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't count Nerdanel, either, who has built an important reputation as a sculptress in this city."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro shrugged and, glancing around, commented:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I thought my children had fled the palace to come here. They seemed restless during dinner.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh." A mischievous glint lit Telperien's honey-colored eyes. “Your kids have found more interesting salons to visit recently.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously? Are there such rooms?” He observed her skeptically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They exist. In The Lakes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro blinked in surprise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nelyo and Cáno are… visiting the Kemendili?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aha! Quite often, too. They have rediscovered their heritage, I would say.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro's mouth twisted into a scowl at the reference to her mother. However, Telperien did not seem to notice his discomfort and fixing her attention on the entrance of the room, she gave a little cry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh! Come with me. Now! I need you to help me convince that woman to design a "stunning" dress for me for the Harvest Festival.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The prince focused his gaze on the elf in question and snorted a laugh as he recognized Councilor Súrion's daughter. Anairë was undoubtedly wearing a </span>
  <em>
    <span>stunning</span>
  </em>
  <span> dress that would have caused Great Lady Vardilmë to feel the need to fast for a month and lie prostrate before Taniquetil to purify her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How could I convince her?" he shrugged as he let himself be dragged in the direction of the she-elf.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"As if you didn't know, Prince Curufinwë, as if you didn't know."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So are you going to tell me who the Kemendilmë is who has captivated my children?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro asked, lowering his voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Telperien glanced at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"If you convince Anairë to make that dress for me, I'll even give you her address when you go to ask for her hand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro shook his head, laughing; but they had already reached Anairë Surioniel and he could not answer.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*Coivienéni: place-name, "Qenya" form of Cuiviénen, the Waters of Awakening.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. 1.4 Memories' land</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Some claimed that The Lakes had always been there, shrouded in the light mist that dimmed the light from the Trees even before the Children of Ilúvatar began the Great Journey.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Others, however, claimed that The Lakes appeared after the construction of Tirion, that they had arisen when the Kemendili had wept so much that the compassionate mother earth had sent her song from the Twilight Lands to dig into the territory of the Valar an image, a memory of the Waters of Awakening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In any case, The Lakes were there, different from Tirion, from Alqualondë, from Tol Eresëa; different from anything that existed under the Light of Laurelin and Telperion; full of color, life, music; a memory of a past to which the elves would not return.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Lakes were located southeast of Tirion. Three lakes like mirrors that curled on windy days and reminded the sea that the Teleri could not abandon. Around the bodies of water there were numerous buildings. Some buildings were located on the bank, on the mainland and at a safe distance from the shore that storms often disrespected; others were supported on thick marble pillars that plunged into the water. In front of most of the dwellings, colored paper lanterns burned as the silver light of Telperion settled. Above The Lakes, from one side to the other and across the width, a thin mist deadened the perennial illumination.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The place was considered part of the Tirion’s suburbs, and its unpaved streets found acceptance for all who sought to enjoy themselves without the Council's laws feeling too heavy. Many, therefore, mistook The Lakes as a place of heresy and insult to Manwë's benevolence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps because of the latter it was surprising that the two eldest sons of the Crown Prince of the Noldor rode down the almost deserted avenue that led directly to the first dwellings of The Lakes - the ribbon-adorned wagons of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Usulka</span>
  </em>
  <span>, who always roamed at different times of the year.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The princes forced their mounts to slow down as they passed the front line of chariots and, responding with nods to the greetings of some of the elves sitting outside their trailers, they headed for one of the busiest steps. The alley, flanked by metal posts from which round lanterns hung, led to a wooden and stone bridge that linked the shore to one of the buildings that stood on stilts in the lower part of the lake. The door to the building stood open and above it a round fur-lined panoply hung, crossed by a pair of curved swords whose hilts were lined with strips of red and green leather.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maitimo and Macalaurë descended from their steeds, knowing that it would be impossible to cross the bridge mounted. They handed over the animals to the care of a young couple wearing the light brown of the youngest acolytes among the Kemendili and joined the rest of the attendees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"There are too many people," Macalaurë grumbled, scowling at the influx of people of both sexes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"A lot of people always come around this time. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Usulka</span>
  </em>
  <span> are in the vicinity and it seems that several families have joined judging by the variety of colors of the cariages…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"There are almost a hundred houseboats, why do they have to come here?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Because the House of Swords is the best known? And are its dancers the best?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Macalaurë grimaced, refusing to admit that his brother was right. It was only a matter of time before more elves flocked to the House of Swords to witness the magnificent spectacle it offered. Of course such a thing was not amusing to the young prince, who snorted as he craned his neck to see over the people between them and the end of the bridge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Dinner had to be spread out today," he grumbled again, stamping his feet. “We won't find a place. We will have to stand to see something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"All the tables have a good view, Cano," Maitimo reassured him. “Also, father returned today. We couldn't run in the middle …”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Dad will be home tomorrow too. Besides, he was more aware of what grandfather had to say about Rúmil and his sister than about us.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't be like that, little brother. Dad couldn't stop taking care of Grandpa to …”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Blessed are these eyes that see you, my beautiful princes! I was afraid you would not arrive in time to witness the beauty and danger that the magnificent House of Swords offers for your delight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maitimo looked up to discover who was speaking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few meters before the end of the bridge was located a metal arch that mimicked tree trunks covered with vines. The fruits that hung from the branches were carved gems with small lights inside. Sitting in one of the branches, there was an elf.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judging by his still childish features, the elf was barely past his early teens. Raven-wing hair curled around his face and fell over the white vest, woven with blue ribbons. Combined with the waistcoat, he wore a light blue shirt and dark pants, closed over the calves by brown leather boots.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing the king's eldest grandson look up at him, the teenager smiled widely, showing beautiful dimples on the sides of his pink mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My fair prince of fire, the day has been worth it if I have seen you," he announced in a clear voice that surpassed the murmur of the crowd.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Several heads turned in the direction of the princes and some leaned towards their companion to murmur something. Maitimo pretended not to notice the fact as he advanced among the people to get closer to the point where his interlocutor was still comfortably seated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Shouldn't you be resting already, Findekáno?" He pointed out with the tone of an adult speaking to a child.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Findekáno raised an arched brow so black it looked painted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Shouldn't you be in the palace, my prince?" He replied, mimicking his tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maitimo narrowed his eyes without taking his eyes off him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How long have you been there? Are you goalie today?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Massanië</span>
  </em>
  <span> Morivanessë wouldn't let me," the teenager admitted with a pout. “I was waiting for your arrival, oh beautiful Maitimo.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Didn't your parents tell you that you're too young to say such things?" He feigned sternness, ignoring the heat that tinged his cheekbones a soft pink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A flash crossed Findekáno's blue eyes, who leaned dangerously forward to bring his face closer to that of the prince.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <b>My father</b>
  <span> has told me not to let others tell me what to be."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maitimo was silent, gazing closely at the elf's fresh and delicate face. It was a strange combination of hair like obsidian and eyes like the dome of Taniquetil; noldorin hair and vanyarin eyes: a combination that was only seen in The Lakes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How many people are inside?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Macalaurë's question interrupted the exchange of glances between the two young men. With a mischievous laugh, Findekáno turned his attention away from the eldest of the Fëanárion and turned to look at the other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't worry, songbird. Your humble servant has reserved your usual box for you, from where you will not lose any detail of what our house reserves for you for today.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Macalaurë ignored the tinkle of mockery in the young elf's tone and grabbing his brother by the arm, he pulled him eagerly towards the final span of the bridge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We'll see you inside, prince of fire!" Findekáno crooned, straightening up to be heard above the chorus of laughter that erupted at his words.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Go to sleep!” Maitimo ordered without stopping.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Macalaurë expected, the hall was full of people trying to move into the next rooms. Three doors left the receiving room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first door from left to right led to a corridor that led to the challenge room, where the daring participated in friendly duels with the house fighters. In that room, elongated wooden benches offered seats to the spectators and those waiting their turn to fight. Several tables with drinks and refreshments were located at different points and arrays of various weapons - from slender spears to curious zigzagging knives - lined the walls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next door led to a balcony whose balustrade opened to allow access to a ladder that led down to the moored boats in the inner courtyard of the building. This door was the one chosen by those who only wanted to share a few hours of intimate conversation with their companions, lulled by the music that came from the balconies on the other side of the patio.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last door - and before which the largest number of people gathered - opened directly onto a room that must have occupied a large part of the lower floor. Lit by tissue paper lanterns at strategic points, the place was immersed in a pleasant half-light that harmonized with the soft music that was heard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two princes paused once they got through the door, watching the staircase that started a few steps from their position. The steps descended to a lower floor, occupied by round tables almost all surrounded by three or four elves who were conversing quietly, drinking, or eating while directing expectant glances at the stage on the other side of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Your Highnesses," called a female voice near the young elves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both turned to find a she-elf dressed in a delicate cream-colored gown held at her waist by a red silk sash tied over one hip. The thick copper braids descended to the female's knees, woven with ribbons of a more intense red than her sash.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nessimë," Maitimo greeted her, taking a step in her direction while smiling.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Findekáno told me you would come," the she-elf commented without showing any affectation at the prince's seductive smile. “Come. We have reserved your box for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nessimë spun on the spot, as if her feet weren't touching the tiled floor with painted leaves, and started walking, sure to be followed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Macalaurë took the lead, forcing his brother to follow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The entire upper level was divided into boxes that provided a better view of the stage, separated from each other by wooden partitions with curtains of ribbons and beads.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as the princes had taken their seats, a young servant appeared to leave them a bronze jug filled with wine, two glasses, and a tray of jams.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro's second son settled near the railing, fixing his attention on the stage, where two youngs were exchanging short swords, throwing them at each other to the beat of a small drum. Maitimo, on the other hand, turned around with the intention of talking with the female who had guided them there; but before he could get a word out, the curtain of shells at the back was raised and a smiling Findekáno burst into the booth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thank you for rescuing my princes, Nessimë," he said jovially. “I owe you a boat ride.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Anytime, Finno," the female declared, a smile curving her mouth and illuminating her foliage-colored eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maitimo frowned and settled into his seat before reaching out a hand for the wine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Findekáno rushed to take the jug for him and filled a glass to offer it to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's too late for a child to walk around," the prince pointed out without taking the drink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The teenager bent his head over one shoulder and leaned against the partition that separated the box from the next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm not a child anymore, Maitimo. I have braided my hair with ribbons, don't you see?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maitimo pretended to inspect the braids without interest. Extending one hand, he silently claimed his glass, which the other handed him without brushing his fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How long until your coming of age?" he asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you going to celebrate with me?" the younger laughed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"This is no place for you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"This is my home, my prince. My… father lives here. Where else could I be? Where would I be more protected?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And your mother? She doesn't care…?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hush, Nelyo!" Macalaurë ordered. “She's here! Look! Isn't she the most beautiful creature in the world?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maitimo forced himself to look away from Findekáno to follow the direction indicated by his brother and fixate on the stage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the platform stood a solitary figure. The artist's clothes consisted of a jade green dress whose lapels crossed over the chest, encircled by a wide piece of vibrant yellow silk that was fixed at the waist by a bow. The woman was tall, which accentuated the elegance of her bearing and the majesty with which she raised an exquisite head, crowned by abundant black hair, gathered in an intricate headdress by gold and jade pins. She wore no jewelry, and one of her delicate long-fingered hands held a curved sword, the point of which rested lightly on the ground between her bare feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sobbing sound of a curved bow violin was heard and the woman raised his sword as he arched her body to the side. The light of a flashlight hit her face, illuminating a set of exquisite features, as carved in living marble, accentuated by the ritual makeup of the Kemendili: a stripe of blue paint covering the upper part of her face and two black stripes descending from lower lip to chin towards her bare throat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The dancer's long lashes trembled and with the rising melody, she raised her sword to rest the blade against her own neck… and she danced.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sword in her hand became a ribbon of light, cutting shadows. Her feet traced paths on the platform, calling out the spirits of Arda. Her body arched in impossible ways, defying gravity, warping reality. Only her face remained impassive - a perfect mask in which the light from the lanterns depicted a forgotten story.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The blade slid down her arm, brushing the nape of her neck until it passed out on her opposite hand. Immediately, it rose defiantly, spiraling danger through the air before descending. She received it with her palm turned and the sword tangled in her arm, cutting the loop from her chest to fall into her other hand as the violin howled and cried in the silence of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maitimo had turned to look just to please the enthusiasm of his closest brother; but once the dancer started her performance, she couldn't look away. It was not the first time he had seen her perform. In the past two months, both princes had often flocked to the House of Swords only to witness the dangerous dance of Lady Hyandawen. Yet each time the female managed to fascinate him equally.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps it was the distant beauty of the dancer - frozen while she performed a number in which she could cut her own neck. Or perhaps it was the fascination of witnessing a dance that had arisen from across the sea, when the Noldor lived in darkness and danced like this to honor their warriors and call for victory. He did not know. Maitimo did not know; but he couldn't look away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On stage, the dancer held her sword high, pointing at the ceiling as the melody of the violin broke. Slowly, she lowered her arm until the edge of the sword touched her lips in a cold kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A burst of applause and whistles filled the room. In the box, Macalaurë rummaged in his pockets and without thinking, threw a chain with opals set on the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The jewel landed next to the ballerina's bare feet, who seemed to snap out of a trance and looked down at the gems. Without a glance at the plaque from which she knew the gift came, she turned on the balls of her feet and headed for the drapery that covered the bottom, disappearing into its folds. Macalaurë got to his feet and ran out of the box.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maitimo made a move to follow him; but when he turned around, he found Findekáno, who was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My beautiful prince of fire," the Kemendil said softly, "I must ask you to make your brother see reason before he is hurt."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you saying?” Maitimo frowned, standing alert.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What the singing prince wants is not possible. Hyandawen is not for him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without waiting for the reaction of the king's grandson, Findekáno passed both legs over the balustrade and slid to the ground, disappearing into the audience that was already beginning to settle in to witness the number of three dancers.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*Usulka: u- (no, without); sulka (root). In this case, u- (no, without) does not add an evil undertone. It designates the nomadic Elves, without a fixed abode.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 1.5 Sword Maiden</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In this chapter, it is revealed - although you already guessed it - the nature of some Kemendili like Fëar atta.</p>
<p>In the case of Hyandawen-Helkemmírë, I will always use masculine pronouns although some characters refer to the character as feminine, as you will see later.</p>
<p>In Morivanessë's case, she is a sikilwendë: dagger-maiden, or as I specified in Dance of Swords (Annexes), a female who was born into a male body.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If these concepts or the way I write them are difficult to understand, please do not hesitate to point it out so that I can find a way to make what I want to convey with this story more clear.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Through the dark blue muslin curtains with burning silver stars, the first vestiges of the Mix of Lights were beginning to seep. Telperion's dying light mingled with the crescent of the golden tree, painting the objects in the alcove with ghostly tints. A slight breeze stirred the curtains and a shaft of light crossed the room to land on the face of one of the occupants of the bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Long-lashed lids fluttered and puckered before rising to reveal eyes of an exquisite silver-blue hue still veiled by sleep. Grimacing, the elf freed himself from the heavy leg that trapped his against the mattress and sat on the edge of the bed. Thick black hair fell over his naked body, covering him almost entirely in heavy waves that descended until they curled between the sheets. He got up and went barefoot to the window.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The ghostly light of Yavanna’s Trees bathed a slender, graceful body with long limbs and pale skin. The fine silver chain that encircled his left ankle did not jingle as he strode through the bedroom in short, ethereal steps. His complexion was that of a young elf, not much older than adulthood; but the way he moved - with feline grace - betrayed a mastery of his limbs that only dedication and age could confer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The elf took a robe off an armchair and paused in front of the polished silver mirror to comb his hair with a mother-of-pearl and ebony comb. After untangling the knots caused by the rest, he separated the mane into three sections and skillfully braided it, then folded it over the nape of his neck and held it with a carved wooden pin. He knotted the robe around his hips and headed for the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before leaving, he took a look at the bed. Through the light silk canopy whose curtains were half-drawn, he saw that his companion was still sleeping, red hair spilling over the pillow and strong shoulders tattooed with blue and red symbols. He shook his head, half-smiling, and opened the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He frowned as he encountered an elf in the corridor, pacing back and forth while marking dance steps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Findekáno," he called, raising an eyebrow. “It's too early for you to be in trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The teenager stopped pacing and turned on the spot. A smile lit his face as he approached with long, calculatedly silent strides.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Father," he said when he stopped, his hands behind his back. “I haven't gotten into trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What a relief.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yet. But it is too early for you to have left the bed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s hot.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And Sercëmaica takes up a lot of space on the bed?" the boy asked with a face that was the perfect allegory of innocence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Findekáno," the older elf's voice changed from soft to something icy, almost metallic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Findekáno bowed his head slightly, pretending to be embarrassed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry. My mother would be mad if she listened to me, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His father snorted under his breath before walking past him to walk down the hall.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Findekáno spun on one foot and followed him hurriedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Grandma wants you to join her for breakfast."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Mhm ... nothing. Far as I know. Although her desire to enjoy your company may be related to ... this precious opals necklace.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hyandawen -for </span>
  <b>she</b>
  <span> was this male of exquisite beauty -  stopped short and turned to see the chain that hung from his son's hand. The seven tear-like opals swayed, returning the light from the lanterns that illuminated the interior of the building.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It doesn't fit, really," Findekáno commented, shrugging. “Opals don't suit you. They don’t match your eyes or your skin. They don't even match your regular makeup.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you persuading me to give you the necklace, Finno?" His father sighed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope. It is Lauro who wants it. You know he has a fascination for the things the 'songbird' carries, ” he pointed out, with slight disdain. “Although… looking at it closely, it is evident that this monstrosity is the work of Fëanáro's hands. Do you want to keep it? I know how much you like his jewelry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hyandawen made a dismissive face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Give it to Laurefindil. I don't want that thing near me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I've seen you pay a fortune for a ring made by the prince."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I pay for the gems; not for work. And I don't want any gifts from Canafinwë. What's more important! You should give it back to him when he comes back.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll do better. I'll tell him you have a lover who can break his neck."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Sercëmaica would not break the neck of a son of Nerdanel."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Macalaurë doesn't know that. I even doubt that he knows that Sercëmaica exists. I mean, as a brother …”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had come to a wide archway that led to the interior baths.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You can tell my mother I'll meet her in half an hour," Hyandawen suggested to his son, waving him away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll tell him to put more sweets," Findekáno crooned before skipping away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hyandawen shook his head and allowed a soft smile to curve his mouth as he listened to the melodious voice of his only son humming a trendy song.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Half an hour later, Hyandawen left the baths wearing a sapphire blue dress that one of the maids brought him. Although he could have taken a bath in his room, in the marble tub that could be filled with water directly from the lake below the building, Hyandawen preferred the spaciousness of the collective bathrooms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Within the first two hours of Laurelin's fruits ripening, the house's communal bathrooms were empty. Hyandawen could then swim in the pools, relax under the hot water jets, or wake up in the ice-cold pool. Yet despite the apparent intimacy, he never took too long, never cared enough to forget that no one could see him there, naked, </span>
  <em>
    <span>who he really was</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The apartments of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Massanië</span>
  </em>
  <span> Morivanessë, mistress of the House of Swords, were located on the top floor of the building. Her bedroom took up a small space and the French windows opened onto a terrace covered by a timber framework with interwoven stripes of green and gold silk, creating a canopy that limited the light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hyandawen entered his mother's bedroom and went to where he knew she was waiting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Morivanessë was sitting in a low chair, the back of which leaned back. The lady wore a simple white dress that made her slim and brown body transparent, and over this garment, she wore an olive green silk hoop with painted golden swallows. Her long hair hung loose and straight to the ground, swirling around her bare feet, whose toes were tattooed with symbols of the earth. In one of her hands, she held a folding fan of dark feathers with which she fanned herself languidly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mother," the newcomer greeted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Massanië Morivanessë straightened in her seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Helkemmírë," she replied in a deep, velvety voice that betrayed her nature much more clearly than her flat chest or sharp features.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You woke up early today," Helkemmírë commented, going to take the seat on the other side of the round table where breakfast was waiting. “Should I blame our adorable Haldo? That boy seemed so innocent.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An amused smile curved the full lips of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>sikilwendë</span>
  </em>
  <span>, who leaned forward to put down her fan and reach for a jug of fruit milk. She filled the glass before Helkemmírë and poured only half her glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Haldo left for Alqualondë before dawn," the lady reported, watching critically as her son added too many spoonfuls of honey to his fruit milk. “I've been up for a long time. But I didn't expect you to wake up early. Not when Sercëmaica just came back last night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Helkemmírë didn't answer yet, concentrating on choosing two of each sweet to put on her clay plate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morivanessë waited for him to finish serving himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Too much sugar, Helkemmírë," she reproached with concern. “You're going to get fat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You've been saying that for almost two hundred years, Mother. And I still haven't gotten fat. Blame all those hours training, I guess. Did you want me to accompany you to breakfast to control my eating habits?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Control? When have I been able to control something related to you, my son?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You're not starting today, I hope. And not with my sugar, please, mom.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It would be a lost cause," laughed Morivanessë, holding her glass with both hands as she leaned back in her chair. “Now that Sercëmaica is back, have you thought about his proposal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Helkemmírë put the candy back into his plate and leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, gracefully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Does it worry you, mother? I'm not leaving this house.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm worried about your happiness. I worry that you will not make a decision in time or that… you will make the wrong decision.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I am not going to bind my soul with Sercëmaica," he declared firmly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morivanessë pouted slightly and placed her glass on the table, then laced her fingers in her lap.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I knew it. I appreciate and value Sercëmaica; but I know he's not the partner for you. Neither was Anairë.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Anairë is my sister. Much more than if she had been sired in the same womb as me. Or for the same seed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Findekáno is lucky then. Am I to assume that Sercëmaica does not hold a similar place in your heart?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We're not bound, mother," he sighed wearily.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And the young prince?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Canafinwë, the second son of Fëanáro. What threads bind you to him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Helkemmírë's face went from surprise to disinterest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No thread connects me to the son of Fëanáro."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morivanessë's obsidian eyes watched him warily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He comes every night to see you dance. He sings your beauty, your talent ... His eyes seek you and his voice follows you. Like it or not, that prince's songs contain too much power for you to remain free for much longer. His music will tangle your feet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nonsense!” Helkemmírë burst out laughing. “The Fëanárion is a child who has become infatuated with an overpriced toy. It doesn't matter if he sings until his throat bleeds: Macalaurë will not have me. And I won't have him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>sikilwendë</span>
  </em>
  <span> seemed convinced by the certainty in his words; but when her son bent down to take another sweet, she said again:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Can you say the same about Findekáno and Maitimo?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Helkemmírë opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a soft voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Massanië </span>
  </em>
  <span>Morivanessë, blessings give me your voice. Lady Hyandawen, blessings rain down on you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hyandawen swiveled in his seat to see an elf dressed in soft pale blue with cranes embroidered on the skirt of their robe. Androgynous beauty, the wide dress did not allow to define their gender.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My lady and our Singer of Earth, the generous Ailinel asks for her nephew," the elf reported in a plain voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Blessings on you, Nendil," Helkemmírë smiled. “Sercëmaica is still resting. Find him in my rooms and ask our Singer to remember me in her songs because my mother grows old and annoyed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nendil turned his gray eyes to Morivanessë and allowed a smile to raise the corners of his lips before bowing and turning to leave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How do you differentiate them?" Morivanessë asked once they were alone. “I saw them born and I can't define who is who between the two of them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's my talent, I guess," the younger shrugged. “And don't worry, mom: Finno is just being a teenager. And Maitimo is handsome. Nothing happens to worry about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Morivanessë looked at him for a moment. Finally, she let out a defeated sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I would prefer that we not set the House of Noléme on fire, Arakáno. I would prefer that the eyes of that house stay away from you and yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her son looked up at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>sikilwendë</span>
  </em>
  <span>'s face, realizing that her fear was real if she used his maternal name, the one engraved on his hip in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>sarati</span>
  </em>
  <span> that Rúmil created in the Twilight Lands.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. 1.6 The Laws of Aman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fëanáro entered his father's chambers, whistling a tune that he had heard the previous evening at Telperien's house.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>After the first time he had attended the social gatherings held by his former tutor and his lovely sister, the prince had attended the meetings almost daily, learning about the new trends in Tirion and debating with some innovators. What interested him most about those gatherings was the group that called themselves <em> Ingolmor. </em> Most of them were young, though they had the support of some born before the Great Journey - or some Unbegotten, like Fëanáro's mother-in-law herself, Lady Hyellemaitë. As far as the Crown Prince appreciated, the most prominent among these "new thinkers" was Anairë, who claimed that only the pursuit of knowledge frees the soul from the bonds of the body and fear.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>The Ingolmor were mostly engineers, scholars, researchers and a few artists, including Anairë herself - much to the delight of Telperien, who was fascinated by the possibility of having the best fashion designer in all of Valinor in her home. </p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"Mhm, I haven't heard that song before."</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro turned to face his father, who was emerging from the bathroom wearing only a red and gold silk robe tied around the waist by a black velvet cord with stitched diamonds.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"It hasn't been performed yet," the prince confessed, smiling. “Not at a concert at least. Only a few of us have heard it; but it's catchy, right?”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Finwë's mouth pursed barely perceptible.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"You heard it at Rúmil's house, I guess."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yesterday," Fëanáro agreed, not noticing the paternal expression.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>The younger elf crossed the chamber and went to a credence to uncork a cut glass bottle and pour two glasses of pineapple and orange alcohol - Finwë's favorite. He returned to his father and handed him a glass before taking a seat in one of the armchairs in front of the window.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"You visit Rúmil frequently," the king pointed out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"As before, father."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"No one would have noticed before."</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro looked up from his liquor and watched the sovereign for a few seconds.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"Are you trying to tell me something, Dad?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm saying it might not be such a good idea to dedicate yourself to just one friend, Curufinwë."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh! I have many friends. And almost everyone visits Rúmil and Telperien's house.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Look for new friends then! Expand your interests. Mahtan tells me that you have not returned to his forge in a long time.”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro made a gesture of annoyance.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>“Mahtan refuses to innovate, to vary the methods he has used for thousands of years…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"If they have worked for you so far, why change them? When things work, they should not be altered.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Such a thought is contrary to the very nature of the Noldor, father," the prince growled, sitting up as if struck by a discharge of energy. “We are children of evolution. It is in our being to seek change, learn new ways... Staying immobile, frozen in the past, brutalizes our spirit. See how Tirion changes and transforms around us. How the new generations seek and renew themselves…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You sound like one of those 'knowledge seekers,'" Finwë snorted wearily as he rubbed his temples with his index fingers in a circular motion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Have you met the <em> Ingolmor </em>?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Hyellemaitë is the least rowdy and Mahtan complains about her all the time. Not to mention the daughter of Súrion. Such a beautiful creature that she could have sat at the very feet of Varda Elentári's throne.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Anairë can sit on the same throne as Varda," Fëanáro shrugged. “She is as beautiful as she is smart.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And yet you didn't choose her."</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>The prince frowned.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"You like Nerdanel," he reminded him. “She is the daughter of one of your best friends.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Of course I like Nerdanel. She is an honorable and sensible female. But it is not up to your beauty and talent. Instead, Anairë…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Anairë would have thrown herself off a cliff before she married me, father," the prince burst out laughing.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Finwë had to admit to himself that it would have been impossible to get Anairë Súrioniel to marry an elf whom she described as 'conceited, violent, arrogant ... and with his head stuck in his own ass' - verbatim words that the beautiful lady said in middle of a lunch with the queen, who was still laughing two hundred years later.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"I admit that," he finally confessed. “Anyway! I'm glad you came. There is a topic that I want to discuss with you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What topic?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well, you're not the only one making… peculiar friends. It is said that your children ... <b>my grandchildren</b> ... have become regular visitors to The Lakes.”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro raised the glass to his lips, slowly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Finwë waited for his son to say something; but when he received no reply, he spoke again.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"I hope those boys aren't thinking of… joining the ranks of the Kemendili."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What if they did?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?”The king swiveled in his seat at the dressing table, where he brushed his long hair straight. With the gold and diamond brush in one hand, he gazed at his firstborn with an expression close to horror.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"If Nelyo ... or Cáno ... decided to assume the beliefs of the Kemendili, what would happen? Who else but them would care?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You cannot be serious, Curufinwë."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why not?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It is inconceivable that our princes- the princes of the Noldor, the leaders of our people, should take… a wrong path, turning away from the benevolence of the Valar and denying…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh please! You are reciting what that madwoman Vardilmë proclaims like a cockatoo! The Kemendili are not criminals!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"The Kemendili incite excess and violence! Their preaching incites to ignore the authority of the Valar as direct representatives of the Father of All!”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"The Kemendili only seek to keep alive the traditions we create in Coivienéni!" Fëanáro defended, bewildered.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Finwë shook his head, shaking it violently.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"We don't need those traditions. We do not need to remember, cling to a dark past, which only left shame on us, on our actions. The past should be left behind, forgotten forever. They ... they want to bring us back to an era of barbarism and …”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You married a Kemendilmë," his son reminded him through clenched teeth.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>The king looked up at his firstborn's face and held his breath as he saw the anger in the prince's silver-beaten eyes. For a few seconds, Finwë seemed to not know what to say.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>“Míriel… Míriel has been in Mandos for a long time. Her mistakes …”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Her mistakes have been forgiven."</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro's jaw dropped. He looked at his father as if seeing him for the first time, as if he did not recognize the elf in front of him. In a corner of his mind, he was aware that this was his father, who gave him life, who lulled him and told him stories of his beautiful and headstrong silver-haired mother; however, in that instant he only understood that his father - his father! had just accused Míriel, rejected her. Once again.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>“I must understand then that if one of my children chose… to follow the beliefs of the Kemendili, would he be punished?”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Finwë was startled as if he had been hit, and yet Fëanáro spoke slowly, calmly. The clear eyes of the monarch moved from side to side uneasily.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"N-no. I ... I hope it never comes to that. My grandchildren…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Won't they be tried along with the rest of the Noldor? What a wonderful concept of justice… father and sovereign of mine. I wonder who passed it on to you: certainly not <em> Massanië </em> Ailinel.”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>At the mention of the leader of the Kemendili, Finwë paled, as if some memory of the past suddenly returned to him.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"I have nothing personal against the Kemendili, my son. You misunderstood me. However ... However, it would not be well-seen for the royal family to give their public support to a sect that glorifies a past in which we found ourselves without the protection of the Lords of Arda and at the mercy of the Dark.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh please, father! What matters least to the Valaduri are the beliefs of the Kemendili. What worries them is the power they gain every time more young people join them, seeking freedom of their thought.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Sinfulness, you say."</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro made a face, shrugging.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>“And now we call it 'sin' to seek pleasure and freedom. Sometimes I wonder if you were really born in the Twilight Lands.”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>For a few seconds, the king of the Noldor did not respond, as if his son's words had awakened memories that robbed his ability to speak. After a moment, Finwë pursed his lips and, straightening up with a stern expression, said:</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"I have never forgotten how long we lived in the Dark Lands. I do not forget the pain, the fear, the hopelessness ... and that is why I cannot understand that someone who has lived the same thing that I want to return to that past, clings to it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I am sure it is not fear and despair that the Kemendili who live in Aman long for."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Ungrateful. That is what Ailinel and her people are. Ungrateful that they do not recognize the benevolence of the Valar and brand their protection as chains. No member of my household will follow the path of ingratitude and debauchery.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You seem to forget that you are the only elf in Valinor who has been married twice," Fëanáro replied sarcastically.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Finwë narrowed his eyes.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"You are stubborn, my son. You persist in not understanding. Your mother was young and ignorant, and that is why she followed the path of the ‘earth lovers’. Pagans!” He almost spat, dismissively. “But you are my heir, the Prince of the Noldor, and both you and your children will be the example that all will follow. Keep your children from the wrong path. Prevent them from falling into the same mistakes as our beloved Míriel.”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro clenched his fists, feeling anger boil in his chest. He wanted to scream and roar and shake the elf before him until he swallowed andthose words. How dare Finwë? How dare he say, hint, that Míriel had been punished? Because of her mistakes? How dare he suggest that his children, his kids, could meet the same fate?</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"My children," he declared with eyes blazing with anger, "they will follow the path they choose. Neither you, nor your obtuse Counselors, nor the Valar… will dictate the fate of my family.”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>He turned on his heel and strode out of the room.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>It took Finwë a little while to realize that his firstborn's anger would not pass easily this time. Reviewing his words, he realized his mistake in approaching the subject; but it was too late. Defeated, he dropped onto the stool before the dresser. After a moment in deep depression, he stood up and without bothering to dress properly, he went to the cabinet that communicated with the interior corridors that led to the queen's chambers.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Indis looked up when her husband entered her study. At a glance, she swept over his pale and unkempt appearance and slightly furrowed her dark brows at the sight of him only covered in a silk robe.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"I have spoken with Fëanáro," the king announced without preamble.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The queen narrowed her eyes before rising to her feet and covering the easel with a white cloth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm going to prepare the tea. You start talking.”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>…………………………….</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro entered his house and went to the forge without stopping to change his clothes. It had been a while since he started any project. After his journey north, during which he decided to reclaim the lands that once belonged to his maternal family and build his home there, he had spent the Telperion hours at his former master's evenings and rekindling his old friendship with Telperien - even if the lady seemed more interested in him seducing Anairë into becoming a regular in the house.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>The prince hadn't paid much attention to Telperien's plans. Anairë - even more beautiful than when she was a teenager - still had a terrible opinion of him that not even his good looks and celebrated genius could change. At that moment, however, Fëanáro remembered Anairë's amused expression when at the last gathering the subject of his sons' growing affinity with the Kemendili came up. Did she know why Nelyo and Canafinwë visited The Lakes so frequently? Did she know the Kemendilmë who seduced them?</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro inhaled sharply, filling his lungs with the scent of iron and still burning coal. He stripped off his doublet as he approached the forge and operated the bellows. After a few minutes, the fire flared up.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>He still couldn't believe his father threatened him. Well, it wasn't a threat as such; but well that sounded like a warning. Against his children. Against him. Using the example of Míriel.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"I thought you would never come. Where did you spend the silver hours?”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>The prince half-turned as he arranged the tools.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nerdanel stood in the doorway, wearing a simple sleeveless tunic that exposed her overly muscular arms. Her curly orange-red hair was tied up in two braids that rested on her generous breasts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I slept in the cabinet after I came back," Fëanáro reported. “You were asleep. I did not want to bother you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You've been away longer than at home since you got back from your trip. Any new project?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nothing special. I'll tell you when I have something.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Are you going to Rúmil's house to look for ideas?" The female raised an eyebrow.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro forced himself to ignore the fact that in all the years they had been married, Nerdanel had never uttered the Telperien’s name. As if the woman were the only lover he had ever had. As if Telperien had any intention of meddling in their marriage.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"There are interesting people there."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Are you telling me that we are no longer interesting enough for you, my husband?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fëanáro narrowed his eyes away from her. Seriously? This too today?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Young people have very good ideas, Nerdanel. Although your father may not believe it. Also, your mother is one of the main promoters of the new thinkers.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"My father only seeks what is best for everyone."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Kneeling at Aulë's feet to carry out his orders. We're not going to argue, Nerdanel. ” He held her back, sensing her intentions. “Not today.”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Nerdanel must have sensed that something had upset him because she chose not to insist as she made her way to the table that was once hers. At the beginning of their marriage, they had both worked in this forge - Nerdanel focused on creating her molds and models while Fëanáro worked on new projects that he almost never finished. Many years had passed since that. With the birth of Tyelkormo, Nerdanel had decided to move her workshop inside the house, where she could watch over her children. Maitimo, Macalaurë and Tyelkormo had been quite close in age that the woman found herself with too many responsibilities and although Fëanáro was a loving and concerned father to the point of being overprotective, when inspiration came, he got completely rapt. After all that time, Nerdanel never returned to the forge and her old workbench no longer seemed her own at all: foreign tools occupied the space, a notebook written in unknown handwriting lay open to one side and a miner's lamp was overturned, with the oil already dry inside.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"I gave that position to Lillassiel," Fëanáro reported. “I hope you don't mind. You didn't mean to go back, did you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm more comfortable at home. Lillassiel?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Aldawen's eldest daughter, the one who was my mother's maid."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I remember her. Already of learning age?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"For a few seasons."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good. It must be good for you to accept her.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"She is not my apprentice. Go over the blueprints for some mines with the help of Nelyo and me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"So she spends time with Nelyo."</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro frowned slightly at the cheer in his wife's tone. It could only be the possibility that Nelyafinwë was in an affair with the girl that elicited such a reaction, and the prince was compelled to remind Nerdanel how much he hated when they tried to manipulate the lives of his children.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"By the way, I want ... to discuss a topic with you."</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Nerdanel's comment made Fëanáro's frown deepen.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"What topic?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Macalaurë. And his visits to The Lakes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh, by Yavanna's petticoats!" He cursed, dropping the hammer. “You too?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Me too?” The female was taken aback. ”What do you mean? Has anyone else told you about this?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"My father even suggested that they could be punished."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“They?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nelyo and Cáno. They go to The Lakes together, didn't you know?”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Nerdanel visibly paled.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>“Maitimo has much more head than his younger brother, who lives in the clouds, with a mind full of birds. Maitimo would never let himself be dragged by one of those ... those …”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro watched her with interest.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"Then you know that it is Cáno who is interested in a Kemendilmë. And you know who this Kemendilmë is, ” he realized suddenly.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Nerdanel pursed her lips.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"We must do something, Fëanáro," she declared after a moment. “<b>You </b>must do something. I have tried to talk to him on several occasions and it seems that I have only managed to make him more stubborn in …”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"He has only come of age two years ago, Nerdanel," the prince snorted, rolling his eyes back. “And he's just fascinated by something he didn't know until now.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It's more than that, Fëanáro! It is more than fascination!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Seriously? You say that just because he goes two out of every three nights to The Lakes? We're not even sure I'll ever see the same woman.” He shrugged, even though he was aware that the latter was unlikely.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Nerdanel reached into one of the pockets of her sand-colored dress and produced a piece of paper.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>“Read!” she ordered as she tossed the paper in her husband's direction.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro stepped and caught the sheet before it flew into the fire. He stretched it out a bit because it was evident that Nerdanel had squeezed it between his fingers in a fit of anger and he began to read. It was a composition in verse.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em> All eyes look at you </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> All hands touch you </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> All the words that you provoke </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> are screaming generously that they crave you. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> I close my eyes if I look </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> My hands shake if they touch, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> And I don't know what I'll do with this mouth </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> When I feel that that body is only mine. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"It's pretty good," Fëanáro commented after reading it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good? Of course it's good: Macalaurë wrote it. In fact, Macalaurë is singing it at Musicians Guild meetings …”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'd like to hear from him."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Didn't you see the title, Fëanáro?" Nerdanel grew impatient. “Don't you see what it means?”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>The prince finally read the first line: <em> "To Hyandawen." </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It means that this… Hyandawen is a really interesting creature. She has gotten our son to write her a song in less than a month.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Five songs. This is the fifth. And he is singing them everywhere, declaring his ‘love’ for that female. Love, Fëanáro! Our son is talking about love with that kemendilmë. He is telling everyone he loves her!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And?!” she repeated. “How can you be so calm when your child is saying that he loves a ... a ... <em> suni </em>?”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro was taken aback by her outburst. On very rare occasions, Nerdanel had lost her composure; but now she really was… furious.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>"You don't even know this… Hyandawen," he pointed out, still dazed. “You don't know if …”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Don't you realize what can happen? What is that woman looking for?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What I realize is that you just judged a person you don't know just from other people's comments."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What are you…?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You have never been to The Lakes, Nerdanel. You don't even know one of the Kemendili personally. How dare you judge them? And if Canafinwë chooses this… woman as his mate, there is nothing we can do to prevent it. You cannot command someone's heart.”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Nerdanel contemplated him, perplexed.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>“Are you serious? Would you let your son become a laughingstock by marrying a female who must have lain with Eru knows how many males? And females?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"He just wrote her some songs, Nerdanel," Fëanáro sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers in a circle. “I don't even know why you made such a fuss. Our son is being a young man like any other. Nothing else.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Macalaurë is not a young man like any other. None of our children are. And you better than anyone should understand it and make them understand it. Talk to him and make him understand that he has to forget about this… Hyandawen and stop making a fool of himself. Or I will talk to your father so that the king will make him understand.”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Without waiting for his reply, the sculptress turned and strode out of the forge.</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro let out a roar and, turning in place, he grabbed a piece of metal and the hammer, and began striking without a clear aim.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>* The song is paraphrasing ‘All eyes look at you’, by Pablo Milanés.</p>
<p>** Suni: bitch. I took this word from Darth Fingon's ‘Twenty-Two Words You Never Thought Tolkien Would Provide’ list in the SWG. Yes, Nerdanel is using the word as an insult and in reality, many consider the Kemendili as immoral for their freedom of thought and customs.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. 1.7 A jewel for another jewel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Reminder for this chapter and the next ones: in the narrative, Helkemmírë Arakáno 'Hyandawen' will be referred to as male (he / him / his) but the other characters will refer to him with female pronouns (she / her) especially those who don't maintain an intimate relationship with the character. I repeat it because it can be somewhat confusing when reading.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Street of the Merchants was unusually little lively that day. Although Laurelin had illuminated the city for almost two hours now, few people walked along the avenue, stopping at the doors of the different stalls and entering the establishments that were already open.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"How sad it is," snorted a young man walking accompanied by an elegantly dressed lady. “Did you announce to the Merchants Guild that you were coming today and didn't want to see anyone?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The lady narrowed her blue eyes, highlighted by the gold and red dust that painted her lids, to watch him sternly.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"I should have left you at home like I thought yesterday, Findekáno," </span>
  <b>
    <em>she</em>
  </b>
  <span> commented with a pout that </span>
  <b>
    <em>she</em>
  </b>
  <span> hid behind the folding fan </span>
  <b>
    <em>she</em>
  </b>
  <span> held in </span>
  <b>
    <em>her </em>
  </b>
  <span>left hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You wouldn't have someone to carry the umbrella for you," the young man pointed out casually.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Helkemmírë rolled his eyes again and, reaching out with his free hand, snatched the parasol from his son.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Findekáno made a face.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can go back now. I don't want you to meet one of your friends and have to delay two hours while you talk nonsense.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You better say you don't want us to meet… a certain prince and end up being the object of a heartfelt serenade. Lauro says he has written you another song. Do you want to hear it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You dare to sing a single note and I will lock you in your room for a week, Alkarinehtar," he said curtly.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Findekáno abruptly closed his mouth that he had already opened to begin singing the last song that Prince Macalaurë wrote to </span>
  <em>
    <span>'Lady Hyandawen</span>
  </em>
  <span>'.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"For being the best sword dancer, you are really not very assertive with the art of others."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You don't sing so well as to convince me to enjoy the boy's silly things."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are you starting to get fed up?" His son raised an eyebrow. “You could easily get rid of him: invite him into your bedroom.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"How would that work to get rid of Canafinwë, my son?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure the young prince will be ... disenchanted when he has a chance to see why you are nicknamed 'sword-maiden,'" he said in a mischievously obscene tone.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Helkemmírë stopped in his tracks and gave his son a serious look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Findekáno took a few steps even before stopping and turning on the spot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” He blinked in surprise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That ... was unnecessary. And something you shouldn't have said out loud.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry," the young elf admitted, blushing. “I understand that ... that you took this path by the will of Mother Earth and that ... I have not wanted to offend or belittle you. It was ... a joke in bad taste. Sorry again.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm not upset, Findekáno. It pains me ... it pains me to admit that if he knew who I really am, that young man would not feel the fascination he feels for ... </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hyandawen</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I am sorry that we have lost so much of ourselves as a people, as elves, that some of us do not even have a place in our own people's conception of the world.” Helkemmírë sighed and calmly resumed his walk. “You're still too young, Finno. You have grown up among the Kemendili and you do not know another life, another way of thinking. It took me a long time to understand what the world was like beyond The Lakes. I was marked by the song of Mother Earth since I was a baby. The melody of the blades interwoven with that of the masks on my way: many faces and a sword awaited me. There is no danger of war in Aman, so I was left with only the path of masks.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Findekáno nodded. He had heard this story from his father and grandmother before. He had heard before how other members of his House commented on the strange duality of the destiny of Helkemmírë Arakáno, son of Morivanessë of the Swords.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"I love my way, my son," Helkemmírë added. “I love and enjoy the melody that Mother Earth wove for me. I like the weight of the swords in my hands and I like the caress of the silk on my skin. I like the power of death that the blades hold and I like how you make up my face and change who I am. I like to be a creature of swords and masks. I hope that when you find your melody, you enjoy it as I do.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Findekáno inclined his head on one shoulder.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"I may have found my melody already, </span>
  <em>
    <span>atarinya</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Helkemmírë slowed down to watch him closely.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Make sure that the person you are giving your music to," he declared seriously, "can feel it the way you do. I don't think </span>
  <em>
    <span>your prince</span>
  </em>
  <span> has a good ear for music.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The teenager blushed intensely and stumbled as he tried to recover.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're a party pooper!" he complained.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Nothing you didn't already know, little one," commented a female voice near them.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Kemendili stopped to turn in the direction of the speaking female.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Anairë approached and, placing herself between the two, interlaced her arms with theirs. He leaned down to kiss the boy on the forehead, then leaned up to press a kiss to Helkemmírë's cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"My two favorite people in the world, what brings you to my faded city?" she inquired, smiling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your son wanted to come shopping and I have to pick up some dresses from Morifindë.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And now that I've found company," Findekáno put in hastily, "you can get rid of me, go to your business, and I'll stay with… Lady Anairë."</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Helkemmírë watched him suspiciously from the other arm of the lady in question.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"I totally agree," she confirmed. “Alkarinehtar and I will keep each other company and thus you would avoid our long shopping gathering. I promise you I won't let him get into trouble.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And who will stop you from doing it, dear Haldatári?" Helkemmírë purred, using his companion's maternal name.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Anairë raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to her companion to whisper directly into his ear.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you provoking me, Arakáno? I remind you that it's been a while since our last… dinner and I'm starting to miss you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't be gross," Findekáno crooned, turning his head away from them. “There are children present.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"You remember your age when you feel like it," his father commented. “Well. You can be left alone. Anairë, please make sure that he goes straight home and that he doesn't stray to </span>
  <b>any </b>
  <span>palace in search of </span>
  <b>any</b>
  <span> red-haired princes.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman raised both eyebrows in amazement and gave an amused laugh.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Worry not. I will not let our little pigeon get near those fiery and dangerous princes.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, and after complaints from Findekáno that his father had exposed his adolescent infatuation, Helkemmírë left the pair alone and went to a shop above whose entrance a sign hung with painted scissors.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Anairë watched him walk away with an expression that betrayed her interest and appreciation.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Isn't he the most beautiful creature in the world?" She sighed quietly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Argh! He's my father, Mom, ”Findekáno reminded her. “And yes, he certainly is beautiful; but not everyone could appreciate it. And he is too aware of that.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Anairë fixed her gaze on her son and reaching out a hand, tucked a curl behind his pointed ear.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know I would have stayed with you two forever, right? You know that I would have left everything to be with you. And next to him.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know," the teenager admitted, giving a sweet smile as he leaned his head into her hand. “But that… is not your melody, mother.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You and your melodies," she snorted, getting ready to walk away. “Come on. We don't have all day to find the right gift.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Daddy doesn't want any celebration," Findekáno sighed, dropping his shoulders. “He states that there is no need to celebrate the day someone decided that ... he was not worth it.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"What nonsense," the she-elf growled, shaking her head. “Arakáno does not realize that we do not celebrate… the stupidity of his parents; but the fortune we have had to meet him. Morivanessë would be so disappointed to hear him say such a thing.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's why he doesn't say it aloud. I can see it in his eyes every time someone mentions his anniversary.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Anairë pursed her lips as she led Findekáno in the direction of the first store that opened its doors before them.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't take it personally, little one," she said when they almost reached the threshold. “Your father loves you… loves you madly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He loves you very much too."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I know," she agreed, with a sweet smile. “And I understand that we both love each other… in different ways. I have accepted for a long time how my relationship with Arakáno is. But you ... you are his. Blood of his blood and flesh of his flesh, much more than mine, although it was in my womb that you grew. You are the first person of his blood that loves him and remains by his side.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Findekáno frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He asked thoughtfully. “Know who his parents were ... why did they decide ... Know if they think about him, if they have looked for him, if …”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do not think about that. I don't think even </span>
  <em>
    <span>Massanië</span>
  </em>
  <span> Morivanessë knows anything about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then who?” The young man raised his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Anairë shrugged.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Singer Ailinel perhaps. I think it was she who… oh, by Vána! Those jewels are made by Fëanáro!”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Grabbing her son's arm, the lady dragged him into the store, where various exquisitely crafted jewels were displayed on the counter.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>What attracted Anairë's attention was an emerald necklace whose settings simulated miniature hands, holding stones no larger than a fingernail between interlaced fingers. The detail of the design would have been enough to fascinate anyone; but, in addition, the cost of the gems must have been enough money to buy a small house in one of the outlying neighborhoods.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Anairë leaned over the window that showed the items for sale and almost pressed her nose to the glass, her eyes wide.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Emeralds from Samnotar’s Mine," she admitted, her mouth parched with emotion. “Only the emeralds of that clown have that bluish hue and those facets …”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The little hands are a funny detail," Findekáno commented, wrinkling his nose. “Helkemmírë would not like that.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Anairë seemed to wake up from a trance and straightened up, her mouth twisting.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“True. He doesn't like emeralds.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Unless they come mounted on the hilt of a dagger."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Looking for something special, ma'am?"</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The shop owner had finished serving a customer and approached them with a smile.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"A gift for the anniversary of someone special," Anairë replied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Then, Lady Anairë, you have found the right gift. A jewel designed by Prince Fëanáro is …”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She doesn't like emeralds," Findekáno put in, leaning toward the merchant in a confidential tone. “And while they are really interesting, I'm not sure she likes the… little hands holding the gems very much.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The setting on the garment is one of its most valuable qualities," interjected a male voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They symbolize a promise of surrender: with these hands I give you my treasure.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Findekáno and Anairë turned to the newcomer. The teenager raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest while his mother hid a grimace.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"My beautiful prince of fire," Findekáno greeted, not quite smiling. “Are you acting as your father's ambassador to sell his work?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"My father makes no profit from the sale of those jewels," Maitimo declared dryly. “But I do feel obliged to highlight the virtues of his work when someone belittles them due to ignorance or …”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh! I am not disparaging the… 'exquisite' work of the Crown Prince. On the contrary, I love the question of… </span>
  <em>
    <span>the little hands</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He pointed with a suggestive grin. “I see it is a recurring reason in your family to be… giving away treasures that nobody has asked for. However, and although I would love for you to give </span>
  <b>me </b>
  <span>some treasure, the gift is not for me and that person has very specific tastes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure we'll find something else," Anairë intervened, resting her hands on Findekáno's shoulders. “Don't worry, Your Highness; Findekáno does know how to appreciate a good goldsmith job. He's just being silly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I insist that the little hands will not be to the taste of …”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Could you stop saying 'little hands' every second?” Maitimo hissed through his teeth.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Anairë raised her eyebrows at the prince's tone. Before she could think of a way to stop her son from continuing to provoke the other elf, someone walked into the store safely, as if the place belonged to him. The lady did not know whether to sigh in relief or exasperation when she realized that the newcomer was none other than Crown Prince Fëanáro.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing his son talking to someone, Fëanáro stopped his walk and inspected the strangers. His silver eyes lit up as he recognized the woman.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Anairë, what a pleasure," he declared, approaching her with a half-smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'd say too much pleasure: I'm starting to find you everywhere," she shrugged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don't complain. Your company is… refreshing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ah. And I thought that 'refreshing' was the least convenient that something could be for a 'spirit of fire'.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>To the surprise of the two young men, Fëanáro laughed.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Anairë," he sighed then, shaking his head, "why have we never been friends? We have so much in common.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's my father's fault, he wanted me to marry you," she shrugged her shoulders with a friendly smile. “Here your son was vehemently defending the qualities of your work.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Nelyo is a bit enthusiastic. And ... did your ... companion refute him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Findekáno made a childish face. Anairë gave him an affectionate look and reached out to ruffle his curls.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Findekáno is a very special person to me, Fëanáro. And someone I see who knows how to bring out the worst in your wonderful son. However, Finno was not contesting anything. Your work is wonderful, as you already know; but I am not looking for something for myself, but for a very dear friend.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A gift?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For anniversary.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Does that friend have any special preferences?" Fëanáro asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Like any noldo, she loves gems; but fancy designs are not her thing. She is more… pristine.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Fëanáro frowned and addressed the owner of the place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Have them bring the chest I sent you yesterday, Isilendilmë."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The female nodded and was quick to obey. The prince turned his attention back to his friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Any gem that she prefers?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"She never said anything. However, aquamarines and sapphires would match her.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>At that moment, Isilendilmë returned carrying a small wooden box. She placed it on a table and stood aside for Fëanáro to open it and inspect the contents.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"What does your friend do?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She is…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Dancer," Findekáno answered instead of her mother. “Our friend is a dancer.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The teen's response caused Maitimo to frown.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Light jewels then," Fëanáro agreed just before pulling out a delicate chain from which an aquamarine star hung in a Vanyarin silver setting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anairë extended a hand to take the garment.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beautiful.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And simple. Will your friend like it?” he asked, turning to Findekáno.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The young man nodded.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely. She… has a fascination for the stars. She even uses them on her skin.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The comment caused a flash of interest in Fëanáro's silver-beaten eyes, who returned to the chest with slower steps.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Does this friend have a name?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Helkemmírë," Anairë replied, extracting a few gold stamps to pay the vendor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The prince watched her for a moment before reaching back into the box and pulling out another jewel.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"Take this from me to your friend, Anairë."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You don't even know her," she was taken aback, laughing. “And you already give her one ... wow!”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Fëanáro held in his outstretched palm a bracelet from which dangled diamonds cut like snowflakes.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"A jewel… for another jewel," he declared. “I am sure… Lady Helkemmírë is a fascinating creature.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Findekáno raised an eyebrow, thinking how he would laugh at his father for ending up wearing not one, but two jewels made by Fëanáro - and none came from Macalaurë.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>"So Hyandawen doesn't dislike you hanging out with other women around town?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Findekáno turned his face to meet Maitimo's piercing eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Actually, she prompts me to do so," he mockingly replied.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. 1.8 A song too dangerous</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Findekáno got out of the carriage that Anairë rented for both of them and said goodbye to the lady, lovingly assuring her that he would not forget his promise to go to lunch with her in the following week. After the carriage had pulled away, the young elf headed over the bridge that spanned the lakeshore to the door of the building. He stopped when he made out an elf leaning on the railing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The afternoon breeze ruffled the elf's heavy golden locks as Laurelin's decaying light glinted off the hilt of the sword strapped across his back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Findekáno approached the elf, who did not react to his proximity and leaned over the railing to see what the other was looking at.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yup," he said after a moment. “It remains the same as yesterday: clear ... and wet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The one with the golden hair winced and backed away from his post, giving the teenager a distasteful look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Did you come back? I was hoping that you had stayed in Tirion for once and all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I wouldn't abandon you for anything in the world, Lauro," the younger replied with mock sentiment. “Have you been here long? Or have you only now started your hydrology studies?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Helkemmírë came back a long time ago. He ordered me to wait for you and that if you came accompanied ... I should break his head.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Findekáno pouted as he shoved his hands into his pockets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I doubt he ordered you to break the head of a prince of the Royal House. It would bring so much trouble that even Helkemmírë wouldn't bother. Also, you and I both know you don't want to break the beautiful nightingale's head.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Laurefindil's blue eyes narrowed as he turned in the direction of the building and began to walk with a lithe gait that betrayed his training as a fighter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Helkemmírë arrived more than two hours ago," he informed the younger boy when he came to his side, skipping lightly like dance steps. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ohtar</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sercemaica accompanies him for dinner.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And for the night," Findekáno commented lightly. “Did he tell you that he asked him… marriage?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Laurefindil nodded when he was sure his partner was looking at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He won't accept."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did he tell you?” Helkemmírë's son asked, putting aside his carefree attitude.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It wasn't necessary. He doesn't have to put it into words. If Helkemmírë were to accept Sercemaica as his mate, he would have done so on the spot. Why the interest? Are you worried about him finding a permanent partner?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am worried that in his eagerness to follow "his melody," he might get lost on the way. Sercemaica loves him. Maybe as much as my mother.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Helkemmírë hears the song of the earth in a way that none of us can, Alkarinehtar," his friend reminded him, lowering his voice. “If his heart is not inclined to Sercemaica or Anairë, it is because he knows that his destiny lies elsewhere.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"His destiny ... seems to be to carry a mask in one hand and a sword in the other. I'll never understand why he didn't just choose the path of the sword.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I will never understand why you rejected the path of the sword when it opened before you," Laurefindil sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Findekáno glanced at him for a few seconds. With one leap, he leaned close to him to hug his arm with his two hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We would have been an amazing pair, Lauro," he assured with an enthusiastic smile. “The best fighters in The Lakes. We would win all the tournaments and flowers would rain on us at each Season's Games. The songs would carry our names to the stars and one day, you and I, together, would forever conquer the dark fire of Arda's enemies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Laurefindil smiled, infected by the joy of his young friend. Seeing him change his expression, Findekáno hugged his arm closer, resting his head on his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"But like my father, I saw two paths open before me," he continued, in a lower tone. “You're the only one who knows, Lauro. I would have been a glorious warrior if I had chosen the path of the sword; but only by following the path of music will I be useful when the time comes. It will not be my sword, but my voice that saves my mate from darkness.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The smile faded from Laurefindil's lips, who looked forward again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I hope that </span>
  <em>
    <span>mate</span>
  </em>
  <span> is worth it," he pointed out through clenched teeth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He's worth it," Findekáno said. “He is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time Laurefindil stopped to look at him, dumbfounded. When he finally realized what he had hinted at, he let out a roar of disbelief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, for Mother Earth! You really…! Oh, little idiot! Do you really think that silly prince is ...? Please Finno! That asshole doesn't deserve to touch you with the tip of a finger! He's chasing Nessimë!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What about that? He still hasn't realized that I am his destiny! He's a valadur, after all.” He shrugged. “He is slow to listen to the music.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Laurefindil had a lot to say about it, but Findekáno slipped out of reach and ran across the bridge. The blond-haired one caught up with him, shouting for him as the younger laughed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>………………………………… ..</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro was standing at the window of his study. The room, located on the second floor of the building, made it easy for him to see beyond most of the nearby houses, reaching out to distinguish the colorful reflection that altered the silver light of Telperion, indicating the presence of The Lakes, the life of the Kemendili.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A dancer. His memory returned to his meeting with Anairë that morning. Only among the Kemendili were there ‘dancers’. The tradition of ritual dance had been lost among the Noldor, preserved only in the Lakes, far from the glowing Court, far from the Council and the Valaduri. His jewels had gone to the hands of a Kemendilmë - a female who, like Míriel herself, had chosen to hear the song of the earth in her blood and soul.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro wondered again what that female would be like, dancing among the multi-colored lights of the tissue paper lanterns.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Helkemmírë.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He repeated the name in his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ice jewel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wondered if she was tall, if her steps were silent and sinuous as if she always danced. He wondered if the aquamarine star would really fit around her neck - her neck was surely white and elegant. He wondered if she would like the bracelet, if she would appreciate that the gems were snowflakes evoking her name.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Helkemmírë.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For the first time since morning, he dared to pronounce the name in a whisper, letting it roll on his tongue, slide on his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Kemendili did not name their children in vain. The name of the dancer was a sign of her path in the world. Ice jewel. Could her wavy silver hair be like Míriel's and Telperien's? Or was it her eyes that gave the magical appearance of ice crystals?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Helkemmírë," he repeated louder, trying to hear it in his own voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had the feeling that the name, even pronounced by himself, called him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A knock on the study door startled him. The prince spun in place with his heart pounding, as if he had been caught doing something wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Father?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed in relief when he recognized his eldest son's voice. Immediately, he gave a mocking laugh at his stupidity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Come in, Nelyo!" He ordered and when his son obeyed, he inquired still laughing: "Since when do you need to call?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's your study, father; your privacy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You are my son, Nelyo. I have no secrets from you, ” he reminded him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maitimo frowned slightly. After a moment, he moved to the chair in front of his father's desk and took a seat as Fëanáro did on the windowsill.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The crown prince looked at his eldest son, who looked visibly uncomfortable. He found the attitude of the young man strange, who used to be very open and trusting with him. He remembered at that moment that in the morning, Nelyafinwë had talked for a time with the young man who accompanied Anairë. Another topic for careful thought: the boy was too young to be the lady's lover, even if his lighthearted demeanor gave him away as a kemendil. On the other hand, the teenager seemed very… interested in keeping Nelyafinwë's attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What is it, son?" He asked at last. “Anything you want to tell me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"N-not exactly."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Is something happening that worries you, Nelyo?" The prince began to wonder, shifting in his seat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I want to talk to you about… about Cáno."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your brother? What about him?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He's… he's fascinated by a dancer, one of the dancers of the House of Swords. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hyandawen.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I've heard about that." Fëanáro frowned as he rose to his feet and pulled his high-backed chair to fall into it. “Your grandfather and your mother were very… vocal about it. I didn't think you shared his concern considering that you frequently accompany him on his visits to The Lakes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maitimo blinked stunned. Realizing his father's intention, he reddened sharply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No! Certainly, I really enjoy going to -The Kemendili are very interesting people and they have ideas and ... traditions that -That's not what worries me about the fact that Cáno has ... interested in this lady.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What worries me is… is that she isn't interested."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro was dumbfounded. It hadn't occurred to him that his son's interest could be unrequited. In his eyes, all his children were perfect, the most worthy of admiration and love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How can you be so sure? Maybe she's just being …”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hyandawen doesn't appear to be that kind of female. I've heard that she ... that she has a lover. In addition, not once has she responded to Macalaurë's messages and on more than one occasion has she returned his gifts. She does not look at him, although we always occupy the box closest to the stage. Hyandawen is not interested in my brother. And I'm afraid Cano is not ready to accept that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro frowned, leaning back in his seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Did you tell your brother this?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maitimo sighed, leaning forward to rest his forehead between the hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just a moment ago I tried to reason with him, to make him see that she was not ... Cáno said that I was blind, that I do not see that Hyandawen is more subtle than the ladies we are used to, that it was impossible for her - precisely her! - would not appreciate that her beauty was sung by all Tirion.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Where is your brother now?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He went to The Lakes," the younger man snorted. “Last night he wrote another song to Hyandawen and she will be the first to hear it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro opened his mouth and closed it again, before laughing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Maitimo looked at him with a puzzled expression, Finwë's son held back his hilarity and said:</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"If he doesn't come back with his head broken by a flowerpot the lady threw at him, I'll talk to him tomorrow."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>…………………………… ..</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Helkemmírë finished brushing his hair and let it fall over his back, like a silk cloak that completely covered the robe with brightly embroidered peacocks. Without makeup, his face was less delicate and his eyes had taken on a serene hue that was dangerously close to sadness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bedroom door opened and closed without a sound. On the polished silver moon, Helkemmírë saw Laurefindil, who entered with a light step, approaching him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I saw Sercemaica leave," the young warrior reported, leaning against one of the bedposts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He didn't want to stay tonight."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You gave him your answer then," Laurefindil realized.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It had taken me too long. Sercemaica was feeding vain hopes for my folly, ” he declared as he stood up and turned in front of his friend.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry. Will he not return?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Helkemmírë shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I have left it up to him."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Have you thought that welcoming him back to your bedroom ... to your bed ... would feed those vain hopes?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Helkemmírë took a slow breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have thought about it. I wouldn't want to lose him as a friend ... or as a lover.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"But he wants to be more to you."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sercemaica is only… recovering in me the image of someone who will not return.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Laurefindil raised an eyebrow. After a moment, he shook his head irritably.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You have to stop doing that, Arakáno. You have to understand that people love you. For you! We love </span>
  <b>you</b>
  <span>; not someone else whose shadow we cast on you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Helkemmírë opened his mouth to reply; but a few harp notes prevented him from speaking. Closing his lips, he frowned as he listened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Let me wake you up with a kiss</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>In the green morning that awaits you,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Let me celebrate spring</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>In the beautiful length of your body.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anger flashed into Helkemmírë's blue crystal eyes, who spun on the spot, hissing like a raging serpent.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I can't believe the gall of that kid!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Laurefindil burst out laughing, doubling over on himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t laugh!” Helkemmírë ordered, pointing a finger at him. “It's not funny, Lauro!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's a serenade! He's giving you a serenade!” He straightened up, wiping his eyes, and listened to the song. “And it is a new one. Another song, Arakáno. Six songs in three months: that has to be a record.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I have to get rid of that boy, Mother Earth," he grumbled, turning on the spot. “Why doesn't his father take him to the end of the world?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, don't be like that, Helkë. He sings beautifully.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I know," he admitted. “That doesn't make me want to hear him under my window.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You could throw a bucket of water on him," Laurefindil suggested, going to the window to lean out slightly and take a look. “He's in full dress. He dressed for you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I could throw a bucket at him, period," Helkemmírë commented, flopping down on the mattress. “Is he wearing jewelry?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"None that I can distinguish," replied the blond, rising on the balls of his feet. “His father would not like you to break his head.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Let him hear him sing."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You'd like that, huh?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't know," he shrugged. “I have never seen him. He has never come that I remember. I don't think he likes us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Let me review your accidents</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stop to feel each measure,</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Moisten your eyes and your fountains</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And enter to the bottom of your life.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Macalaurë's voice carried a new stanza to their ears. Helkemmírë leaped to his feet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Daring boy! Now I do throw a bucket at him!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Laurefindil burst out laughing again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"At least Sercemaica has already left," he pointed out. “If not, we would have seen a duel after the serenade.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Argh! I hate you, Laurefindil. Why don't you go down there and take that asshole to your room?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Laurefindil sighed eloquently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I would love to ... if Macalaurë would allow me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that moment, the bedroom door was thrown open and Findekáno stormed into the room, agitated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you listening?” He pointed to the window. “Are you going to throw a pot at him or not? I just came not to miss that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>………………………………….</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finwë was surprised to see his son arrive at his rooms after lunch. Since the unfortunate conversation of days before, Fëanáro had not returned to the palace despite the fact that the king had sent him several messages requesting his presence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“ I was hoping to see you, my son," began the king, going to meet him. “I must admit that the other day I …”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I accept your apologies, father," Fëanáro interrupted, without interest. “Now, I need you to do something for me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Wha… whatever you want, dear," Finwë hastened to promise, without hesitation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His son looked at him almost coldly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Appoint Cánafinwë as your ambassador to Olwë for the negotiations for Arafinwë's engagement."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The monarch was taken by surprise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What…?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"They will leave for Alqualondë in two days, won't they?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. But why…?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Cano needs to get away from Tirion for a while ... refresh his head and ... and think clearly."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Ah. So, you see that I was right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fëanáro gave a sarcastic laugh at his father's triumphant attitude.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My son is fascinated by a woman who does not correspond to him. That's it. Any reasoning with him is impossible, so I will go the hard way: I will send him away so that he can reflect and see what everyone else sees except him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And that is…?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"That this female will never accept his courtship. So you can sleep easy father: your grandson will not marry a kemendilmë. At least not this time.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In case you didn't notice, one of my favorite characters in this particular story came on the scene: Glorfindel. I am still deciding certain details about him in this story. Keep an eye on him: while Glorfindel is generally not my cup of tea in fics - I adore him in canon - he will be an interesting figure in this story, I hope. </p>
<p>About the song: It has been torture to choose the songs that Maglor sings to Helkemmírë. Painfully, I have chosen songs in Spanish and my translations suck. In this case, the song was 'Beginning and end of a green morning', by Pablo Milanés as well. The song, in general, is a bit sassy and... hot actually as it's about a married couple who keep their passion alive after ten years of living together. I will share it in the Annexes soon. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Please, comments and criticisms of any kind are welcome: be it about my terrible English, about the narrative, or about some aspect of the story that you do not understand or do not like.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. 1.9 The Swords’ Melody</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Laurefindil leaned into the small room where the artists were preparing for their acts. Bowing his head inward, he took a look before spotting Hyandawen in the mirror.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>"Laurefindil!" Screeched another of the elves, holding the huge feather fan before her bare torso.</p><p> </p><p>"Please, Lisselottë," the young man narrowed his eyes, "you know I am not coming to see you naked. Hyandawen, I have news.”</p><p> </p><p>"I hope good," said the aforementioned, observing the image of her friend on the surface of the mirror.</p><p> </p><p>"He's out of town. He traveled with the retinue of Prince Arafinwë to Alqualondë, for the engagement negotiations. He will be out of the city  for at least two or three months.”</p><p> </p><p>"That long to negotiate a compromise?" Lisselottë screamed, still covering herself with her fan. “How awful.”</p><p> </p><p>"The youngs are expected to get to know each other during that time before establishing the courtship," Laurefindil reported, without turning to look at her.</p><p> </p><p>"Good," Hyandawen sighed. “At least I can rest without being woken up by a brat singing under my window.”</p><p> </p><p>"That's a great way to wake up," the other dancer sighed, her expression dreamy.</p><p> </p><p>“Aha. I'll be sure to let Nissimëlindë know that you would love for her to wake you up singing.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>………………………… </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Fëanáro stopped to listen to the silence. With Canafinwë's departure a week ago, the house seemed quieter than ever. It was difficult that the second prince was not always humming or working with one of his instruments. Now the only sound seemed to be from the forge, from Fëanáro’s hammer. Not even Nerdanel seemed to make any noise, too focused on her work as a housekeeper and as a teacher for a group of apprentices she had taken the previous year.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The prince evoked his son's disappointed look as he left. Canafinwë had come to him to convince Finwë not to send him on that journey; but Fëanáro had been adamant, assuring that this was an unbeatable occasion to expand his horizons and see beyond the streets of Tirion. Ultimately, the young man only calmed down a bit when Nelyo intervened, telling his brother that he didn't have to worry, that if Hyandawen was really interested in him, that interest wouldn't go away for three months apart. Fëanáro was not as patient as his first-born: the day he spoke with Canafinwë and found out his complete refusal to admit that this dancer did not reciprocate his feelings, the craftsman had almost lost his temper. He wanted to yell at his son until he understood that the fact that this female never even accepted or wore the jewelry he "threw" at her after each performance was proof enough that she didn't want anything with him.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Fëanáro sighed and continued walking to his chambers.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>He hadn't thought about how difficult having children would be when he married Nerdanel. He wanted so desperately to have a family of his own, that no one could steal from him, that he considered nothing more. The children were wonderful as babies - except for the screaming and the hours without being able to sleep - but when they grew up everything started to get tangled up. You could not command the feelings and choices of your children. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't change what they thought and on more than one occasion he had discovered that opposing them only made them more determined to do something.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>He had been in the workshop all day and the prince decided to take a long bath before having some dinner and working on the plans for his future castle. That evening he did not feel like attending Telperien's gathering. Although he spent pleasant times with his old friend and his tutor, his assiduousness at the house began to unleash rumors that did not appeal to him.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>He and Telperien had been good friends since he was a teenager under Rúmil's tutelage. When he came of age, it was natural for that friendship to evolve into something more intimate and enjoyable that lasted until a few weeks before his marriage to Nerdanel. From time to time, when Nerdanel was too reluctant to share his bed, Fëanáro sought out Telperien, who he knew would not create false expectations. The lady remained single by choice.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>However, if rumors claimed that there was some kind of compromise between them, his father and his Counselors would end up making a fuss about the issue and Telperien would probably be the hardest hit.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps it was time for him to seek out new companies as his father suggested.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Sitting in the red and black marble bathtub, arms extended over the edge, Fëanáro thought it had been a while since he'd met someone interesting enough to hold his attention after a night of sex.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Mentally, he considered the people he knew who might offer him more than just an affair at once. Only two names remained in his mind: Anairë and Artamir.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The young Jewelers Guild Representative was enthusiastic, a pretty good craftsman, and once he got over his initial shyness, he knew how to hold an interesting conversation. However, Artamir seemed too… 'fascinated' by Fëanáro to be sure that he would maturely assume a relationship between them.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Anairë, on the other hand, wasn't really an option. Although her beauty and intelligence appealed to him in equal measure, Fëanáro felt for her a warmth comparable to what he would have felt for a sister had he had her. That feeling was due in part to the fact that, a few years ago, when he tried to seduce her after her return from Alqualondë, Anairë had rejected him, telling him that she had her heart set on someone else. Looking at her, Fëanáro could only think that whoever they was and who wasn't with her deserved to get their ass kicked for being stupid.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>He leaned his head on the edge of the tub.</p><p> </p><p>He didn't really have many options.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>A third name popped into his head and Fëanáro wondered, for the umpteenth time, if Anairë's friend would wear his jewelry often.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Helkemmírë. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He wondered if she was tied to someone, if she would show her lover wearing only the jewelry she received for her anniversary.</p><p> </p><p>In his mind, he conjured the image of a naked, pearly body, and around the slender neck, the silver chain with the star of aquamarine resting …</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>"Fëanáro?"</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Nerdanel's voice snapped him out of his reveries. He sat up still in the water, cursing under his breath as he pretended to ignore the fact that his cock had started to harden with his fantasies.</p><p> </p><p>He was stupid and really lacking in sex when he got turned on thinking about a woman he hadn't even seen.</p><p> </p><p>He got out of the tub and wrapped himself in a white cloth to go to his bedroom.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>His wife was waiting for him sitting on the corner of the bed.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“What happened?” he asked without looking at her, going to the dressing table.</p><p> </p><p>“I've been waiting for you; but since you weren't going out, I was afraid you might have fallen asleep in there,” she explained.</p><p> </p><p>"I was just taking a bath. Is there a problem?”</p><p> </p><p>"You have to be harder with Macalaurë."</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>At her statement, the prince raised his eyebrows and turned in front of her.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>"I sent him to Alqualondë for several months. I'm sure that will be enough for …”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you sure? He's only been away for a week and he's already writing to that woman.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Fëanáro frowned.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>"How do you know that ...?"</p><p> </p><p>"This came this morning."</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Nerdanel got to his feet and handed him a folded sheet of paper.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Míriel's son stared at his wife's hand for a moment before reaching out and taking the paper. His frown deepened when he noticed that the missive had been sealed.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>"Who brought it?"</p><p> </p><p>"A hawk."</p><p> </p><p>“Here?”</p><p> </p><p>“The envelope was addressed to Maitimo so that he could deliver the letter to that female.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Fëanáro looked at Nerdanel in disbelief.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>"Did you read the letter to Nelyo? And this one?”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>She pursed her lips as her cheekbones darkened.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>"If I hadn't, I wouldn't know that …”</p><p> </p><p>"You didn't have to know, Nerdanel! Nelyo would have talked to me! It was he who asked me to help him make Canafinwë understand that this female does not want him! How can he trust us if you steal his mail and read it?”</p><p> </p><p>"I didn't steal anything! They are my children, Fëanáro! And we need to be alert. Macalaurë will not forget that woman. Read that letter!”</p><p> </p><p>"We'll figure it out when he gets back! And if he doesn't understand, doesn't want to accept that she doesn't want him ... then it will be the best that he finds out for himself, that ... Hyandawen says it to his face.”</p><p> </p><p>"That ... dancer is playing with him, Fëanáro. She will not reject him. She is just making him fight for what he wants ... until he proposes! It's the oldest trick in the world!”</p><p> </p><p>"And you know it because you used it on me," he replied sourly.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Nerdanel was perplexed, her mouth open.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Fëanáro cursed under his breath as he ran a hand through his hair.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>"Don't do this again, Nerdanel. You have no right to invade the privacy of our children. I'll talk to Nelyo, but you ... you stay away from this matter. Now leave me alone.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The woman blinked several times, still stunned by her husband's earlier words. Mechanically, she headed for the door; but when she came to it, she stopped.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>"Don't compare me to those whores," she finally declared, raising her chin. “I just acted as any decent female would. Too bad you were used to immoral and libertine females.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Fëanáro raised a hand in his direction, ready to defend Telperien - who he knew the insult was going against - but Nerdanel left before he could speak.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>……………………………….</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Laurefindil leaned over the balcony railing and looked around the audience. It was a not very crowded night because the next day was a day of work and the elves of Tirion did not usually come in those days. In a corner of the room, he made out several <em> úsulkar </em>, who stood out for their colorful clothes and the scarves tied over their braided hair. Some of the nomads had become regulars at the venue, eager above all to witness the tricks with the bladed weapons performed by the performers on stage. Laurefindil smiled when he recognized one of the Usulkarin leaders who was very enthusiastic about Hyandawen's performances.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The young man sighed. That night, Findekáno was visiting Lady Anairë and would not accompany him to patrol the building. On the other hand, Haldo was still traveling and Sercemaica had not returned to the House of Swords since Hyandawen rejected his offer of marriage.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>At the top of the ladder, he spotted Nessimë and waved a hand in greeting. The female tilted her head in response and turned to greet a new customer.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Laurefindil straightened up as Nessimë froze, watching the newcomer. When he could make out their features in the light of the red lanterns burning above the door, his first reaction was to run toward the dressing room.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The dancers turned toward the door when it opened, yelling in surprise.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>"Laurefindil!" Lisselottë complained. “It is already a habit!”</p><p> </p><p>"The prince…" gasped the blond young man, his gaze fixed on Hyandawen, who was preparing to go on stage. “He's here ... The prince is here.”</p><p> </p><p>“So soon?” Hyandawen frowned. “Wouldn't he be with the Teleri for two months?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not him.” Laurefindil shook his head. “Not that prince. His father.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>There was silence in the dressing room.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>"Oh, Hyandawen, Hyandawen," one of the dancers crooned as she made her way to sit up, waddling. “I think you've finally brought too much attention to your precious head.”</p><p> </p><p>"Shut up, Fëaquildë," Lisselottë growled.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Hyandawen didn't show any concern even though from Laurefindil's expression, they all thought the same.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>"Give me the swords," he ordered calmly. “Both. If Fëanáro came to meet me, we will make it worthwhile.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>………………………….</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Fëanáro took a seat in the box to which he was led by the young usher. From the location, he suspected that it was the same one that his children normally occupied.</p><p> </p><p>Leaning back in his chair with a glass of wine in hand, he studied the establishment.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The Kemendili did have a sense of the good life. Although not all the inhabitants of The Lakes followed the traditions and beliefs of the Kemendili, all the businesses located there seemed to follow the same pattern of joy and art. He liked it. The atmosphere was intimate and relaxed, allowing one to be carefree.</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro struggled to remember that he was not there alone to enjoy what the House of Swords had to offer.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Despite himself, he had read Canafinwë's letter. Using a language as poetic as that of his songs, the young man declared his unshakable love and promised Hyandawen that when he returned, he would ask lady Morivanessë for her hand in marriage. Canafinwë did not doubt that his offer was accepted and that was what stunned Fëanáro. How was it possible that Nelyo could say that the dancer was not interested and that his other son was so certain that she was?</p><p> </p><p>As a precaution, the crown prince had decided to meet the lady in question.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>In previous days he had asked a few questions and every time Hyandawen's name came up, his interlocutors fell silent, but their looks said enough to end up intriguing Fëanáro. Was she so beautiful? Was this female so fascinating that they didn't even dare to describe her?</p><p> </p><p>He took another look around. He had heard of the House of Swords since his childhood. Its mistress, Morivanessë, had been born across the sea. Some - like Rúmil - dared to recall her dark beauty and fighting prowess when the elves were still fighting the darkness in Coivienéni. Even in the Blessed Realm, Morivanessë had kept the sword tradition alive, teaching her apprentices the warrior dances of the early Quendi.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The chords of a harp were heard first, marking a slow rhythm, solitary notes that marked the ignition of each of the lanterns surrounding the stage. A violin joined slowly, repetitively, accompanying the steps of the elf who emerged from the shadows at the back.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>With her arms hanging on either side of her body, the dancer walked slowly, her hips barely swaying. Her clothes were light although she was wearing several layers. A bow was knotted over the breasts and the sleeves of the silk dress embroidered with tiny flowers stretched until they dragged across the floor as she passed. Her hair was tied high on her head with silver pins from which lapis lazuli lotus flowers dangled. The turquoise skirt flapped as if blown by the wind as she stopped in the middle of the stage.</p><p>
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</p><p>The violin quickened the beat, supported by a small drum, and the dancer spread her arms outstretched from the body, wrists up. The sleeves were opened, showing that in each hand she held a sword with a slightly curved blade.</p><p>
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</p><p>Only moving slightly, Hyandawen put one foot out and followed the rhythm of the violin. To one side, to the other, back and forth -her little foot was hitting the platform firmly. With a simple movement, she switched to the other foot and repeated the exercise. And again. Each time faster. Until the spectators' eyes could not follow the lightness with which she shifted feet and kept pace. She glided and, without stopping marking the dance steps, she turned on herself and around the edge of the dais, without raising her arms, only keeping the swords half-hidden between her silk sleeves.</p><p>
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</p><p>The violin fell silent, replaced by a lute. Hyandawen spun in place and when the violin returned - faster, dizzying as a whirlwind - she followed him, raising her arms at last.</p><p>
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</p><p>The swords swirled above her head. They cut the air, the light and the shadows. With both hands joined, almost intertwined, Hyandawen spun the hilts in an endless whirlwind as her feet continued to draw fawn leaps and steps, bare her firm legs, her ankle encircled by a silver chain that glowed with fire.</p><p>
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</p><p>Steel flared furiously as it flew from hand to hand. When one sword rose, the other rippled around the dancer's waist, almost lovingly.</p><p>
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</p><p>The music was gaining in intensity - violins, drums and flutes joining in. The silk was transformed into feathers, wings. The swords threatened and caressed. And in the middle, Hyandawen was a star that burned, burned without actually exploding.</p><p>
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</p><p>It was an intoxicating sight, binding Fëanáro's gaze and holding his breath. Every time the blade of the sword brushed the white neck or one of the dancer's delicate wrists, the prince's heart stopped and shot in anticipation and fear. His mind played tricks on him, turning Hyandawen's red and blue makeup into streaks of blood and stardust that tinged her like-blue-diamonds eyes of danger and promise. There was something exquisitely savage about this creature, and Fëanáro clung to the arms of his chair with both hands, trying not to answer the call that each strike of bare feet sang for him.</p><p>
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</p><p>Then he saw it. He saw the bracelet circling Hyandawen's wrist. He didn't know how he could have missed it; but from where he was he could recognize the snowflakes made of diamond, made by his hands.</p><p>
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</p><p><em> Helkemmírë. </em> The Hyandawen of Canafinwë was<em> his Helkemmírë </em>and - blessed be Ilúvatar! –she was more –much more, so much more! -than he imagined.</p><p>
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</p><p>The swords flew away and returned obediently to Helkemmírë's hands, who made them dance once more before they crossed, hugging her white throat as she fell to her knees.</p><p>The violin trailed off on a sharp chord.</p><p>
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</p><p>The audience erupted in applause. The Usulkar’s leader whistled, putting his fingers to his mouth and pulling the knife from his belt, he threw it onto the stage.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro was still motionless, his fingers clenched on the wood. His body burned - with impatience, with hunger, with desire.</p><p>
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</p><p>He watched the knife fly into the dancer's face and saw Hyandawen's impassive face barely transform. Lowering the swords, she held them in one hand and, with the other, unlocked the blade from the platform, keeping it while she stood up.</p><p>
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</p><p>She never turned her head as she withdrew, and yet Fëanáro was convinced that he had sensed the silver-blue eyes flashing in his direction.</p><p>
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</p><p>Rising to his feet, the Crown Prince placed three gold dies on the table and headed for the exit, still aware of the fire raging in his veins, in his chest, in his belly.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Are you retiring, Your Highness?" Asked the golden-haired young man at the door of the room.</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro hardly noticed him.</p><p>
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</p><p>"She… Helke -Hyandawen… when does she act again?"</p><p> </p><p>"Every third day if there are no festivities," the guard reported and fixing his with eyes disconcertingly similar to Indis's, he inquired: "Will we have your presence again? Should we reserve a ...?”</p><p> </p><p>"The same box. As long as she acts.”</p><p>
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</p><p>The young man nodded, outlining a slight smile. Fëanáro did not notice. He hurried out, to seek the fresh air from the silver tree.</p><p>
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</p><p>He would go back, he decided as he walked across the bridge. Another day, another afternoon ... he would return to see Helkemmírë and then… </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Úsulkar: no-roots. As I mentioned in a previous chapter, it refers to the nomadic elves - I imagine them as gypsies, in case you haven't noticed. In this case, I used 'úsulkarin' as an adjective: referring to or belonging to the úsulkar - copying Noldorin, Eldarin, Sindarin, etc.</p><p>Now for the moment, the song I used as inspiration for Helkemmírë Hyandawen's dance is 'Tara's Tune' by Celtic Woman. You already have an idea of how our Helkemmírë sets the pace, right?</p><p> </p><p>And ... they already saw each other for the first time! It had never taken me so long for the leads to meet.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. 1.10 Fascination</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"There he is again," Findekáno crooned as he entered his father's bedroom.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë turned in front of him, only dressed in the robe he took after the bath.</p><p> </p><p>“So early?”  He was surprised. “We barely opened the bridge.”</p><p>
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</p><p>His son hugged one of the bedposts.</p><p>
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</p><p>"He hasn't failed in two weeks. I wonder if he'll still be this regular when the Summer Festival starts.”</p><p> </p><p>“Probably not. He will have other matters to attend to. Parties, banquets ... balls at the Court…”</p><p> </p><p>"I think he will return. I think he will come every night. To see you.”</p><p> </p><p>"Don't say that," Helkemmírë frowned. “He doesn't just come to see me.”</p><p> </p><p>"Mhn…" Findekáno mused. “He leaves once you finish acting. And he asked that the box be reserved for him only on the days that you perform. I think it's pretty obvious. Would you accept his gifts if he gave them to you?”</p><p> </p><p>"It's the Crown Prince, Finno." His father rolled his eyes. “He's not going to give me a gift.”</p><p> </p><p>"I think ... he's about this to give you a gift," he commented, showing a small space between his thumb and index finger.</p><p> </p><p>"And I think… you're thinking a lot of things lately. Go to your post, boy, if you don't want me to send you to bed without dinner like when you were a boy.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Findekáno winced, showing his tongue to his father, before turning on his heel and leaving the bedroom.</p><p>
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</p><p>"You have half an hour to get ready!" He crooned from the other side of the door. “Grandma is afraid that Aicecet will throw the knives at the prince if he keeps looking at you the way he does!”</p><p> </p><p>"No candies for you tonight!" Helkemmírë replied as he dropped the silk robe to stand naked in the middle of the room.</p><p>
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</p><p>He only heard Findekáno's laugh, which gave him away that his son had already had more than enough sweets that day.</p><p>
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</p><p>He walked naked to the closet and opened the double-leaf door wide, to look at the hanging clothes.</p><p>
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</p><p>The frequent presence of the Crown Prince had put the House of Swords in a constant frenzy of seeking ever new costumes and diversifying presentations. Morivanessë had not ordered anything about it; but everyone in the house wanted to please Tirion's favorite son. And Helkemmírë had not escaped this whirlwind of costumes and new tricks.</p><p>
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</p><p>Reaching out, he stroked the skirt of one of his favorite dresses that he never wore on stage for being too revealing. No low necklines or too tight sizes, no bare arms, no back in the air ... Although in the House of Swords, and among the oldest Kemendili, his identity - his name and real sex - was known to all, Ailinel and Morivanessë had agreed that it was better that, out of The Lakes, Helkemmírë was just a dancer.</p><p>
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</p><p>Normally, he loved being Hyandawen; but in recent days, Helkemmírë had remembered what he and his son had once discussed about Macalaurë, and a shard of ice had nested in his chest: would Fëanáro think the same if he knew who Helkemmírë really was? If one day he saw him naked, what he really was, <b>who</b> he really was, would he keep coming to see him dance? Or would he run away, disgusted?</p><p> </p><p>He sighed, pulling his hand away from the dress he had once bought in rapture and that he had only worn in the privacy of his bedroom. Almost regretfully, he opted for another less revealing model.</p><p>
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</p><p>…………………………………</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro leaned back more comfortably in his seat, resting his left ankle on his opposite knee. Cup in hand, he watched the stage where three elves in ruffled skirts and bands of heptacolor silk across their breasts performed a circle dance exchanging straight knives with absolute precision. The dancers were beautiful - like any elf born in Aman who preserved the wild air of the Twilight Lands - yet the prince did not find the same interest in him that Helkemmírë aroused since he heard her name.</p><p>
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</p><p>He took a long drink, slowly, staring at the stage; but just watching the sinuous movements of the dancers. Even if he had arrived since the House opened its doors, his only objective there was to see Helkemmírë - fill his eyes with her beauty of ice and darkness, flood his fantasies with the movements with which she swung the swords, with the agility with which her feet marked the beat of drums and violins. Since meeting Hyandawen, Fëanáro had revisited his adolescent readings, seeking more data from the Waters of Awakening in his quest to give his fantasies an environment more suited to the beauty and skill of the dancer.</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> ‘She loves them so much that she even uses them on her body.’ </em>
</p><p>
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</p><p>Stars. Helkemmírë loved the stars to the point of '<em> wearing them on her skin </em> '. Every time he saw her dance, Fëanáro tried to glimpse those stars that must have been on the skin of his dancer. If his readings weren't lying, those born in Coivienéni used to mark in their bodies the path that the Earth sang for them: Fëanáro was surprised by Helkemmírë's daring, since the stars were reserved for the guides - <b>the kings</b>. Or maybe, that was just the song of Mother Earth telling her where to go.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro forced the fantasies to stop. He looked like a teenager again - dreaming of a beauty he had only half-seen, fantasizing about the day when he would finally make up his mind to…</p><p> </p><p>A movement at the tables closest to the stage attracted his attention and as he looked down, he identified an Úsulkarin group claiming the table they normally occupied. The prince frowned slightly as he recognized the leader who had thrown his knife at Hyandawen's feet the first night. It would be too much of a coincidence that both chose to come on the same days if they did not have the same interest.</p><p>
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</p><p>Aicecet. He knew the Úsulka because in the past he had traded with them, obtaining rare stones that they obtained in his wanderings and sometimes some herbs that Yavanna had allowed to grow too wild. He and Aicecet had hit it off because they were both impulsive and disrespectful of other people's authority. Now it seemed they even had similar tastes.</p><p>
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</p><p>As if sensing his thoughts, the leader of the Úsulkar lifted his dark gaze to the prince's box and grimaced as his hand instinctively sought the knife at his belt. Fëanáro raised an eyebrow: was Aicecet thinking of challenging him to a knife duel? The úsulka would be surprised if he hoped that the crown prince did not know how to fight hand to hand.</p><p>
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</p><p>The sound of crystal flutes diverted the thoughts of Míriel's son. His intentions to demonstrate his skills in knife or fist fighting were dashed as he saw Helkemmírë advance through the center of the stage.</p><p>
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</p><p>For a few seconds, Fëanáro was distracted by the dancer's clothes: the lapels of the top garment crossed just below the pale throat and a band of white silk pressed the waist just above the hips. The skirt of the garment consisted of stripes ranging from white to dark gray, which were set aside to show the wide pants that made up the bottom piece. The wide sleeves fell almost a meter past the hands. The sword was crossed behind her back, its smooth silver hilt rising beside the dancer's upright head, crowned by the proud ponytail that rose like a war plume.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë danced. With her arms bent to clasp her hands in front of her chest, her waist slightly tilted to one side, Helkemmírë danced the hunt in the woods, the pursuit of the great beasts, the fear of discovering the proximity of the Dark Enemy's nightmares ... and the decision to face them, to fight, <em> to die </em>. Helkemmírë danced the hundred legends that now only lived in the dreams of the Eldar: she danced the struggles of the Three Clans before seeing the Light of the Trees; she danced the anger for those who fell or were lost in the clutches of the Urkos; she danced the revenge of the survivors; she danced the danger and fear even as they entered the woods reeking of death; she danced the dark fire of the servants of Evil; she danced the endless struggle between elves and darkness; she danced the victory that came with death.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro raised the glass to his lips to soothe his parched throat. How dare she? How dare she dance a death story… <em> like this </em>!? How dare she make him think that even death was beautiful when Helkemmírë represented it?</p><p>
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</p><p>On the dais, Helkemmírë turned, ignoring the applause and greetings that followed her dance. Upon reaching the curtain, the dancer raised her face and glanced quickly at the box where Fëanáro was half-hidden in the shadows of the venue.</p><p>
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</p><p>The prince held his breath as he noticed Hyandawen smiling - barely visible, a curve of the corner of her mouth painted soft red. In the next second, Hyandawen had disappeared behind the curtains.</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro got to his feet and almost ran out of the box.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Highness!”</p><p> </p><p>He stopped in time to avoid colliding with the blond guard he always found at the door of the building.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry," he apologized, frowning as he caught sight of the young man's blue eyes for the first time. “I always see you here…”</p><p> </p><p>"Laurefindil, Your Highness. This is my home, Sire.”</p><p> </p><p>"Are you the son of Lady Morivanessë?" The prince was taken aback, evoking the image that was created in his mind of the warrior lady.</p><p> </p><p>"By adoption," Laurefindil half-smiled. “<em> Massanië </em> Morivanessë has no children of her own. Did you want something, Your Highness?”</p><p> </p><p>"Just to know… Hyandawen… she… lives here?"</p><p>
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</p><p>Laurefindil watched him for a moment and Fëanáro wondered if he had broken any house rules.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Hyandawen is a member of the House of Swords, yes, Your Highness. <em> Massanië </em> Morivanessë is her mother.”</p><p> </p><p>"I see," Fëanáro understood, and turning his face away, he fiddled with the gold chain that hung from his belt, on the hip.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Do you want to ... send her a message?"</p><p>
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</p><p>Finwë's son looked at the kemendil, doubting.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Hyandawen… does she receive?"</p><p>
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</p><p>A smile touched Laurefindil's lips maliciously.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Lady Hyandawen is very… selective when it comes to receiving visitors. She decides who she meets with. However, if you will allow me to make a suggestion… Lady Hyandawen has a particular fascination for jewelry.”</p><p> </p><p>"I think I've heard something about it," Fëanáro admitted, raising an eyebrow as a knowing smile curved his lips. “Does she have a preference for a particular gem?”</p><p> </p><p>"Well ... aquamarines ... turquoise ... other blue stones whose names I don't know …”</p><p> </p><p>"I'll take care of finding them," Fëanáro agreed. "Only blue stones then…”</p><p> </p><p>“Eh… and this one that is black with… the 'galactic gold'. She loves that stone.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.</p><p>
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</p><p>"There isn't much 'galactic gold' in Aman. She must have explored …”</p><p> </p><p>"I'll let you ask her that if she decides to meet you at the end," Laurefindil smiled, stepping back to make room for him to withdraw.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro nodded and thanking the young man for his help, he went to the exit of the building, already thinking about what he could give Hyandawen.</p><p>
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</p><p>………………………………….</p><p>
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</p><p>Laurefindil entered the bedroom and went to the window to draw both curtains, letting Laurelin's light in.</p><p> </p><p>A groan came from the bed and Laurefindil heard Helkemmírë squirming on the bed, pushing pillows and kicking sheets.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Who kicked you out of bed so early, Lauro?" Helkemmírë grumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed.</p><p> </p><p>“It's midmorning, Helkë. Don't you ever plan to get up? Findekáno has had breakfast twice already.”</p><p> </p><p>"As if I could have stopped him," he shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>“No. But maybe you could have prevented him from eating all the sweets on the table before the rest of us sat down.”</p><p> </p><p>"You should be faster by now," he sighed as he got to his feet and went to the screen that concealed a small copper tub.</p><p>
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</p><p>Laurefindil paced the bedroom a few times, staring at the ceiling.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Your prince was asking questions last night," he reported lightly.</p><p> </p><p>"He is not my prince any more than he is yours."</p><p> </p><p>"He doesn't come to see me dance. Nor does he want to know me personally.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë came out from behind the screen.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Did he say he wants to meet me?" he asked, turning pale.</p><p>
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</p><p>Laurefindil nodded.</p><p>
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</p><p>"You're going to meet him, right? You also want to.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not.”</p><p>
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</p><p>The blonde was stunned by his answer.</p><p>
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</p><p>“What…?”</p><p> </p><p>"I will not receive Fëanáro. I don't want to… ” he rubbed his forehead with one hand. “I don't want to see his expression when…”</p><p>
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</p><p>The door swung open and Findekáno stepped in, tripping over his own feet as he tried to keep a wooden box safe in his hands.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Findekáno, what are you ...?"</p><p> </p><p>"For you," the teen gasped, handing him the box. “It came for you. It has Fëanáro’s sigil.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë took the box almost in a trance. His fingers ran over the deck, tracing the seven-pointed star that mimicked a fiery flower, an emblem well-known in Tirion and beyond. Slowly he pulled the small gold latch and lifted the lid.</p><p>
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</p><p>Laurefindil and Findekáno watched him, waiting for his reaction. Seeing him freeze, eyes alight with disbelief, the two exchanged an intrigued look and in agreement, they moved forward to lean over Helkemmírë's arms.</p><p>
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</p><p>"By Mother Earth, it's beautiful!" Findekáno stammered.</p><p> </p><p>"By Yavanna's tits, that elf is fast!" Laurefindil gasped.</p><p>
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</p><p>Inside the box, resting on a dark blue velvet background, was a choker. The ribbon, made of links of white gold molded in the shape of swords that joined alternately tip to hilt, should hug the throat of Helkemmírë. From the center, hung a round aquamarine about two inches in diameter, and inside it was trapped a star of ‘galactic gold’, the gold-encrusted black jade that was so difficult to find in Valinor.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Are you still going to refuse to receive him?" Laurefindil raised an eyebrow.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë did not reply, merely stroking the gem in silence.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In The Silmarillion it is mentioned that one of the greatest inventions of the Noldor - of Fëanáro - was the creation of artificial gems. Yes, the aquamarine that he gives to Helkemmírë is made by him and I took the creative license that he did it in one night because he has the songs of power and so on in his favor.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. 1.11 Sparks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Three were the bodies of water that made up The Lakes. </p><p> </p><p>The largest was located closer to Tirion and on its banks, it was where more buildings were grouped. This was <em> Lindë </em>, for it was said that, under its waters, the song of the Earth was powerful even in the distance. </p><p> </p><p>The second was <em> Hyellë </em> because its waters remained more still than those of its brothers. </p><p> </p><p>The third of the lakes, the farthest from the city and rarely visited by those who were not Kemendili, was <em> Enda </em>, the center of power of the Kemendili, who did not forget the past.</p><p>
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</p><p>On the north shore of Enda opened the mouth of the cave where the 'lovers of the Earth' first settled in Aman. Almost immediately, the different Houses had begun to build more comfortable dwellings around The Lakes; but even a thousand years after her arrival in the Blessed Kingdom, Singer Ailinel, spiritual leader of the Kemendili, continued to dwell in the cave that would shelter her on the first day of eternal light.</p><p>
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</p><p>The mouth of the cave was wide enough for ten elves to enter side by side, and within it wide, gem-lit caverns opened like natural halls more spacious than those of the Noldóran in Tirion-upon-Túna.</p><p> </p><p>Despite the fact that many of the residents of The Lakes lived in the later buildings, the galleries of Cave Heart were bubbling with life. Youthful laughter could be heard in the corridors, songs rose at any hour, and the smell of stews, perfumes and spices mixed in a polychromatic fabric.</p><p> </p><p>This amalgam of nuances and sensations came somewhat veiled to the main chamber, where the matriarch hummed while weaving a necklace of red pearls.</p><p>
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</p><p>Ailinel was one of the First, one of the Unbegotten. With no other mother than the earth in which she opened her eyes to see the stars, no more father than the darkness that enveloped her white body. She had walked on the banks of Coivienéni and according to what was assured, she was the first to hear the song of the Earth and follow it. Some claimed that when Oromë encountered the elves, it was the lady Ailinel whom he saw for the first time, singing a song of death and vengeance for those whom the 'dark fire' took away; others said that it was not her, but a close friend, Erinti, who later chose not to make the Great Journey. Be that as it may, numerous legends surrounded the Singer Ailinel, turning her into a being that the elves revered or feared; but that they couldn't ignore.</p><p>
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</p><p>As all Eldar, Ailinel was beautiful; but like those who refused to reject their twilight past, she also had a feral, indomitable air that enhanced the brilliance of her green with flecks of gold eyes. Her hair, braided with emerald and gold gem-cloth ribbons, was a deep red hue, resembling polished mahogany.</p><p>
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</p><p>With Laurelin's first light staining the world outside the caves, the lady found herself clad in a simple, sleeveless, light green tunic, showing her bare arms tattooed with the old Shadow Forest markings. The neckline descended to the belly, revealing the valley between the breasts and the smooth belly adorned by an obsidian pin where the navel should be. Between her long, callused fingers, the pearls ran easily, joining together as the song of fertility accompanied them.</p><p>
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</p><p>Someone arrived at the door of the cavern and stood on the threshold, silent, while she finished her work.</p><p>
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</p><p>Finally, Ailinel tied the two ends of the long necklace - which should later encircle the female's hips - and placed it in a bag with apple leaves and small light jade stones.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Come in, Sercemaica. You are always welcome in my home,” she declared with a smile.</p><p>
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</p><p>Her nephew entered with steps that his leather boots silenced and stopped before the female to greet her with a bow, putting a hand to his heart and then to his forehead. At a gesture from Ailinel, he took a seat before her, on a flat rock covered in layers of velvet and lustrous panther skin.</p><p>
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</p><p>"You've been very reserved lately, <em> Sercënya </em>," Ailinel commented, reaching out to trace her nephew's eyebrows and nose. “What weighs on your heart, my son?”</p><p> </p><p>"You know, ma'am," the warrior half-smiled, not raising his deep-green-foliage eyes to her.</p><p>
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</p><p>Ailinel looked at him. Sercemaica was the only one of her relatives who followed the song of Mother Earth like her. Her sister and other nephew had chosen not only to bow their heads to the Valar; but worship them as if they were Eru himself.</p><p>
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</p><p>Sercemaica was tall and portly, but agile like the hunters of old. His face, even half-hidden by the abundant red braided beard, was beautiful and whoever looked closely at him would soon find the resemblance to a ‘certain’ red-haired prince. Unlike his aunt, Sercemaica had his forehead tattooed with inverted triangles that indicated the Warriors of the Twilight Lands. His ears were adorned with earrings of obsidian and silver from earlobe to tip.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I always knew that Helkemmírë would not accept your proposal," the female confessed with a sigh. “That does not make you less deserving of her love and you should not forget it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know. Helkemmírë… she would have chosen me in a different world, in a different song. That does not make her refusal less painful. Or see how others approach what I dreamed was mine.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Ailinel pursed her lips slightly. Rumors traveled faster among the Kemendili than on the streets of Tirion. She had heard about the new admirer of the ‘sword-maiden’ for a few days, thanks mostly to the envy of Fëaquildë, who was unconsciously drawing more attention to her rival.</p><p>
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</p><p>"You heard it, right?" Sercemaica realized. “The Crown Prince is now a regular in the House of Swords.”</p><p> </p><p>"As I understand it, Fëanáro has good taste. Like his father. I just hope he knows how to preserve his treasures better than Nolémë has done,” she concluded with a shrug of the shoulders that showed her disdain.</p><p>
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</p><p>Sercemaica did not want to delve into his aunt's feelings for the king of the Noldor.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Fëanáro is not just any elf, ma'am. He is the son of the Noldóran and I do not think that the Valaduri who rule Tirion agree that their prince shows ... a preference for …”</p><p> </p><p>"Are you worried about Helkemmírë then? What can happen to her if she draws the attention of the Counselors to herself? From people like… Mahtan?”</p><p> </p><p>"They ... would be cruel."</p><p>
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</p><p>Ailinel gave a short laugh as she got to her feet and walked away from the warrior, who followed her with his eyes.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Helkemmírë is not exactly a flower someone can trample on, Sercemaica. Her song is more powerful than you can feel, even being born under the stars. They will not harm her: they cannot. Against the soul of Helkemmírë, the stupidity and hatred of the Valaduri will crash as against a wall of ice, the unbreakable ice of the North, ” she pointed out, smiling maliciously.</p><p>
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</p><p>Sercemaica shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Ice can't resist fire."</p><p> </p><p>The Singer made a vague gesture of understanding.</p><p> </p><p>"Ah. So, you are jealous. You fear that the son of Serindë will achieve what you could not.”</p><p> </p><p>"Fëanáro is already married," he growled through clenched teeth.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah. With a good female who has wanted to bite off more than she can swallow. Fëanáro's fire is constantly looking for new pastures to quench its hunger. In the Twilight Lands, Nerdanel would never have been Fëanáro's choice.”</p><p> </p><p>"And Helkemmírë would?"</p><p> </p><p>“Who knows. The truth is… that Helkemmírë's melody has always been marked by the stars. Around her head.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Sercemaica held his breath, stunned. Stars around her head. The mark of kings. Helkemmírë was attached to the Royal House.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I'm sorry, <em> Sercënya </em>," Ailinel apologized as she returned to his side and sat down across from him to take his hand in hers. “You always knew that it was not your destiny to bind Helkemmírë to your soul.”</p><p> </p><p>“But I love her!” he declared with determination.</p><p> </p><p>"That is the problem. You love Helkemmírë and forget that more than Helkemmírë, <em> he is Arakáno.” </em></p><p>
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</p><p>…………………………………………………</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë released his breath in a relieved sigh when he was at last alone after Laurefindil and Findekáno drifted off down the street, teasing each other with the possibility of meeting a certain red-haired prince or being serenaded when a certain 'someone' returned from Alqualondë.</p><p>
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</p><p>Sometimes he forgot that it had barely been sixty years since he was the same age as those two and thinking the same nonsense.</p><p>
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</p><p>Finally alone, he prepared to enter the fabric store to purchase some cuts for the new dresses. However, the open door to the armory distracted his attention. Without hesitation, he walked his steps to the store.</p><p>
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</p><p>One of the clerks frowned at the elegant lady who had just crossed the threshold; but before the young elf had a chance to commit an imprudence, the owner of the establishment himself rushed in and bowed briefly to the newcomer.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Lady Hyandawen," the elf with dark hair braided in the Telerin style greeted. “It is a privilege to have you in my establishment. Please, if there is something here that is to your liking, say so.”</p><p> </p><p>"You are generous, my lord," Helkemmírë smiled, a soft smile that flushed the owner's cheeks and made the clerk's knees go limp. “I'll take a look and let you know if something is to my liking.”</p><p> </p><p>"Whatever, my lady. I'm at your service. It would be an enormous privilege if you use one of my swords in your dances.”</p><p>
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</p><p>With that, the elf bowed again, giving way to the lady, who winked at the young clerk before walking toward a row of swords at the back of the room. The boy nearly choked on his own tongue.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë had to admit that the pieces were pretty good. Firm, well balanced, just the right weight not to fly too far in a turn. Good swords, although Helkemmírë was not used to straight blades. He ran his finger down the steel of one of the weapons and looked at his face reflected in it. Good steel, too. The grips were excellently crafted and he could almost imagine how his fingers would adjust to the ribbed markings that swirled around the gold and leather trunk.</p><p>
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</p><p>He turned his head, searching and smiled to discover another group of swords behind a bookcase that hid them from the main square.</p><p>
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</p><p>These were curved swords, engraved on their blades like the ones the Kemendili used to use and Helkemmírë smiled mischievously as he realized that it was these swords that the owner was referring to when offering them.</p><p>
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</p><p>The song of power was strong in the craftsmanship of these weapons. Made from a single piece of steel from blade to hilt, they displayed set gems tracing hidden patterns.</p><p>
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</p><p>Speed. Daring. Strength. Protection. Defense. Honor.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë read the patterns as if they had been written in the <em> sarati </em> or the <em> tengwar </em>. The old symbols of the twilight elves.</p><p>
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</p><p>He stopped before a pair of twin blades. Turned outward, their hilts fit perfectly, forming a peculiar curvilinear teardrop sword.</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em> Osellë. </em>
</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë's fingers traced the pattern that responded to a word whose meaning had been lost to the elves, becoming a bland and worthless word.</p><p>
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</p><p>These swords would have been intended for two warriors, two females who would have united more than the strength of their arms and the beauty of their bodies in a single song.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I should have given you a sword."</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë was startled when the velvety voice caressed his ear, slowly, in an intimate joke that unleashed threads of heat in his belly.</p><p>
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</p><p>Pulling away from the body looming against his, he slowly turned to face the Crown Prince.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Your Highness," he greeted with a half bow. “Your gift was… exquisite and surprising.”</p><p> </p><p>"Surprising?" Fëanáro repeated, feigning perplexity. “Should I have announced it earlier with a letter?”</p><p> </p><p>"Perhaps with a royal edict. It would have been more credible.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro smiled.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Have you already used the necklace?"</p><p> </p><p>"No suitable occasion has presented itself."</p><p> </p><p>"Accept an invitation to dinner from your prince and it will be the best opportunity for you to use it for the first time."</p><p> </p><p>"And in the meanwhile, I praise your amour-propre," Helkemmírë agreed sympathetically.</p><p> </p><p>"You don't have to wear my necklace to flatter me, Helkemmírë."</p><p> </p><p>"You know my name," he pointed out, raising his eyebrows.</p><p> </p><p>"And you mine. We are even.”</p><p> </p><p>"Are we? I have not given you anything.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you think?”</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë looked at him in genuine surprise this time. Fëanáro smiled and took a step toward the swords.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Are you going to take them?" he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“It depends. If you are thinking of buying them for me ... the answer is no.”</p><p>
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</p><p>He turned to look at him, frowning.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I don't want someone to come out saying that the crown prince bought me some swords that cost a small fortune," he clarified.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro watched him for a few seconds, biting the corner of his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë glanced at him and finally reached out to strike him lightly on the cheek with his fan.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Do not do that. You are a grown elf, not a child.”</p><p>
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</p><p>The prince was surprised by his audacity; but the only reaction he managed to show was to laugh, throwing his head back. His slightly hoarse laugh filled the small space they were in, causing Helkemmírë's chest to expand.</p><p> </p><p>Hiding the lower part of his face behind the folding fan, Helkemmírë laughed too.</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro fixed his gaze on his face and held out a hand.</p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë stopped laughing when the prince's fingers touched his wrist and slowly, without pressing, forced him to lower the hand that held the fan. They were both the same height - inch up, inch down - and their gazes met effortlessly.</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro withdrew his hand slowly.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Are you going to accept that invitation to dinner?" he asked, lowering his voice, without looking away.</p><p> </p><p>"In two days you are invited to dinner at my house, Prince Fëanáro. But I won't wear your necklace.”</p><p>
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</p><p>A small smile played on the lips of Finwë's son, who bowed slightly as his companion passed him to leave.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë paused before leaving the privacy of the little bend. Turning his head slightly to look at the other over his shoulder, he warned:</p><p>
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</p><p>"And don't even think about giving me those swords."</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro did not come to formulate his hasty and unconvincing defense before Helkemmírë disappeared, leaving behind a soft scent of gardenias and melting snow, like the arrival of spring. Only when he was alone, the prince noticed that he kept the hand with which he touched Helkemmírë's wrist closed, as if he wanted to retain a piece of his person.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Lindë: song<br/>Hyellë: crystal<br/>Enda: "heart", but not referring to the physical organ; it literally means "center".</p><p>Sercënya: my blood.</p><p>Osellë: sworn sister, m: otorno. For this story, the concept of 'sworn siblings' has come to replace in the elven tradition a much deeper union, the true union of two or more people in body and soul, as lovers and as partners.</p><p> </p><p>On another subject, the idea of gem-fabrics is not mine, it comes from the novel 'The city of Splendors' by Ed Greenwood &amp; Elaine Cunningham, from Forgotten Kingdoms, where one of the characters spins this material. One of my favorite fantasy novels, by the way. It literally suggests that gems and precious metals are spun together with cloth through the use of magic.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. 1.12 Embers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fëanáro handed the reins of his horse to the boy who ran to meet him. The boy, still in late infancy, smiled proudly as he closed his hands around the braided leather, causing a wave of amusement and tenderness in the prince.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Huorë will take good care of your steed, Your Highness," Laurefindil reported, advancing through the door of the building. “Accompany me. I will lead you to meet Hyandawen.”</p><p> </p><p>"Did she order you to receive me?"  The prince half-smiled as he approached him.</p><p> </p><p>Laurefindil raised an eyebrow at the plump expression of the elf considered the most powerful and handsome of their entire race.</p><p>
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</p><p>"She asked me not to allow you to get lost and go to… someone else's table. Hyandawen has prepared a veritable banquet for you.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro joined him as the guard began to walk with a brisk gait that betrayed his training.</p><p> </p><p>"Did she cook?" He asked, without hiding his surprise.</p><p> </p><p>"I assure you that you will not die poisoned. She has a very good hand.”</p><p> </p><p>“She's a dancer. As a general rule, females who dedicate themselves to… the arts tend to neglect the more homely tasks.”</p><p> </p><p>"That, Your Highness, is a deeply <em> valadurion </em> concept. It doesn't work that way between us, when Arda's songs drive our lives almost entirely. But I will let your hostess explain better the details you want to know about us.”</p><p>
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</p><p>As they chatted, Laurefindil had circled the building after passing the bridge, using a terrace that surrounded the outer wall. This route took them away from the main rooms and gave them direct access to a small platform from which a rope ladder descended into the water and three steps of different heights ascended. Arriving on the platform, Laurefindil stopped and with a half bow, extended a hand, indicating the medium-height staircase.</p><p>
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</p><p>"You don't need to announce yourself. Lady Helkemmírë has been informed of your arrival. Good evening, Your Highness.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro thanked him and headed determinedly up the steps.</p><p>
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</p><p>As he set foot on the first step, the prince's heart shot wildly. Years had passed since he had experienced this anxiety, this emotion. His body seemed to be divided into two halves: one - probably his legs - wanted to run up the stairs and see Hyandawen at once; the other - his stomach writhing in a pool of insecurity - he preferred to delay seeing her a little longer.</p><p> </p><p>Finally, he ascended the fifteen steps with a steady, slow step. On reaching the top, he found a small balcony whose balustrade leaned over the calm waters of Lake Lindë. In the middle of the balcony, a table was arranged on which a simple dinner was served; but whose aroma promised.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I forgot to ask about your preferences, so I cooked several dishes."</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro forgot about the meal when he saw Helkemmírë standing under the lintel of the door that led to what must have been her bedroom.</p><p>
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</p><p>……………………………………</p><p>
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</p><p>“Again?” Finwë asked, after reading the paper the Captain of the Guard handed him. “Just one day difference between the previous visit and this one.”</p><p> </p><p>"I know, Sire. Also, my… source was surprised to see him so soon.”</p><p>
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</p><p>The king frowned.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Have you been able to find out why he goes to that place so often?"</p><p> </p><p>"Your Majesty, considering that he visits the House of Swords, presumably one of the dancers has… attracted his attention."</p><p> </p><p>"A dancer," Finwë sighed, shrugging his shoulders as he hid his face in his hands. “Eru is punishing me, ”he murmured.</p><p>
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</p><p>The Captain of the Royal Guard pretended not to have heard the king's words.</p><p>
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</p><p>After a few minutes, the Noldóran stood up with the report still in his clenched fist.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I want you to find out who this dancer is, Narmacil," he declared. “I want to know all about her and if Morivanessë has knowledge of the extent of the relationship between my son and her… acolyte. I want to have all the details. My son will not be reasonable, but maybe the lady does. Morivanessë will surely understand.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Narmacil bowed deeply before leaving the royal study.</p><p>
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</p><p>The king approached the fireplace and tossed the paper onto the coals. As he watched the sheet slowly burn, he let out a sigh, wondering once more if Eru wasn't punishing him for that child he pushed away. Once again, the Noldóran wondered if he had not given up the son who would make him proud as king rather than father, who would have been his true heir.</p><p>
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</p><p>…………………………………….</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë dressed in black.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro could not recall the last time he saw a female wear black - a color reserved to honor Mandos and his silent Maiar. Nor did he remember ever having seen a dress like that: a wide skirt swirled around the feet, shod with pearl-embellished velvet pumps, and over the skirt, a loose garment reached below the knees. The upper garment had flared sleeves and an inverted triangle-shaped neckline that allowed to see the torso of the lower garment: this had a round neck that hugged the white throat of the dancer. But the most striking thing about the whole was that both in the wide sleeves and in the space of the body of the garment, a creature belonging to the legends prior to the Great Journey was painted. No one in Tirion would have exhibited themself to a member of the Royal House wearing an allusion to the twilight past so openly.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro felt his chest swell with something akin to pride - pride in having chosen a creature as beautiful as they were brave. A smile curved his mouth, mischievous.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I'll be satisfied with what you offer me, Helkemmírë," he declared, meeting her crystal blue eyes.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë raised an ink-like eyebrow and gestured to a seat at the table.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Wait till you say that after you haven't passed out intoxicated."</p><p> </p><p>"They assured me that I would not suffer for your food. Should I consider Laurefindil a liar?”</p><p> </p><p>"Not a liar; but he is an enthusiast of everything that is moderately edible.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro came around the table to help Helkemmírë sit down, then took his place across from her.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I like your dress," he commented. “I know that legend …”</p><p> </p><p>"Huë-pimpi," Helkemmírë said. “My mother used to tell me stories about them when I was younger. A spirit of nature very jealous of its territory.”</p><p> </p><p>"And that can take the form of a beautiful female to confuse travelers who make him angry."</p><p> </p><p>"Or that of a beautiful young man," added his companion.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro nodded at the comment while a flash turned his silver eyes to diamonds of amusement.</p><p>
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</p><p>"What are you going to delight me with today, <em> heri </em> Helkemmírë?"</p><p> </p><p>"Wait until you taste it before using the word <em> delight</em>, prince," Hyandawen repeated as she began to uncover containers. “For starters, I remind you that this is not one of your royal banquets, so we'll ignore the protocol. Nor is it necessary to follow a specific order to consume the dishes: only eat what you want. I don't know how… well versed you are in <em> kemendilion </em> cooking so… I softened up the seasoning and spices as much as I could, although you will notice that many of our dishes combine flavors. We Kemendili are… a bit addicted to sweets and wine,” she pointed out with a mock guilty expression that caused the prince's smile to widen. “Personally, I like to start with some Herb Butter Garlic Bread - it helps our stomachs get ready.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro followed her suggestion, buttering a slice of bread. Helkemmírë watched him furtively, expecting to see his face transform when the potent taste of garlic touched his tongue; however, the prince devoured the portion with relish and poured himself a second.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I've never tasted butter flavored this way," he admitted. “I will have to incorporate it into my regular diet.”</p><p> </p><p>"If you say so," Helkemmírë shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>"I had no idea you were such a good cook. I mean, I had no idea this would interest you. Until now, the women I have met who are dedicated to ... art or research, are not very homey.”</p><p> </p><p>“Seriously?” commented his interlocutor, serving a portion of meat and then pouring a caramel sauce on top. “What females are you talking about? Your wife is quite homey to me - five children would say she is.”</p><p> </p><p>"Nerdanel wouldn't be able to cook boiled eggs," Fëanáro laughed, shaking his head. “But not only her. Telperien, for example, doesn't know anything about cooking or… stuff. Anairë doesn't seem to know much about these issues either.”</p><p> </p><p>“You're wrong. Anairë makes a delicious grilled chicken. If you like charcoal-flavored, black chicken,” she reported calmly.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro burst out laughing.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I forget you are friends. You two must be a great team.”</p><p> </p><p>“We are. Nothing can come between us,” Helkemmírë declared with a dangerous smile that put a gleam of steel in her gaze.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro had the feeling that she was giving him a warning, but he decided to ignore her for the moment.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I like Anairë very much. She is a friend, albeit in a peculiar way.”</p><p> </p><p>"I could say the same."</p><p> </p><p>"The swords ..." the prince recalled, watching Helkemmírë's face carefully, "were you thinking of Anairë while you looked at them?"</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë raised her eyes of soft blue silver to him, lost their menacing edge, and it took her a moment to remember what swords he meant.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Those swords were for a pair of lovers," she clarified slowly. “No, I was not thinking of Anairë. Even if I… loved her to the point of wanting to tie our melodies together, those swords still wouldn't define us. Anairë is not a warrior.”</p><p> </p><p>"So you will just… tie yourself to… a warrior?"</p><p> </p><p>"I will not tie myself to anyone, Your Highness," Helkemmírë replied and handing him the plate with the meat she had cut earlier, she added: "Try the pork with ginger caramel sauce." </p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro took the plate and set it in front of him before cutting off a piece.</p><p>
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</p><p>For more than half an hour, they continued in the same way: Helkemmírë served small portions, garnishing them with the different sauces and aromatic herbs, and then passed them on to her guest. Fëanáro tried each combination, asked about the ingredients, expressed whether he liked it more or less, asked for a specific recipe or listened to an anecdote related to a particular dish.</p><p>
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</p><p>Kemendili’s cuisine was much spicier than what the crown prince was used to, but Helkemmírë made sure to serve him in just the right amounts so as not to irritate his taste buds or his stomach.</p><p>
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</p><p>Having finished with the various main courses, Helkemmírë got to his feet and went to his bedroom, returning almost immediately with an ice bucket.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Ice?” Fëanáro was surprised. “For the drink, I hope.”</p><p> </p><p>“For the dessert. Every dinner is not complete until you have eaten dessert, Your Highness.”</p><p> </p><p>"You don't have to call me that. And what dessert is that that needs ice?”</p><p>
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</p><p>Instead of answering him, Helkemmírë took some small glass canoes and arranged them in deep plates that he filled with ice. Afterward, she served into the canoes some creamy balls that smelled of different fruits.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Frozen fruit cream, Your Highness," she reported as she passed one of the canoes in its ice container to Fëanáro. “Don't you have this on the Noldóran table?”</p><p> </p><p>"I've never seen it."</p><p> </p><p>“Surprising. It is a Vanyarin dessert, from the very skirts of Taniquetil. A dessert of kings.”</p><p> </p><p>"Have you visited Taniquetil?" Asked the prince, after savoring a spoonful of the ice cream. “This is delicious!”</p><p> </p><p>"It is, huh? Taniquetil? Never. What would someone like me look for there?”</p><p> </p><p>"I know that some Kemendili travel there during pilgrimages."</p><p> </p><p>"Not the members of the House of Swords. We are warriors. If our steps lead us to the Valar, it would be to others and not to Manwë.”</p><p> </p><p>"Oromë and Tulkas?"</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe. Although they weren't the only ones to fight against the Enemy's dark fire.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro watched her, intrigued. After a few seconds, he shook his head.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I will not talk about religion with you," he decided.</p><p> </p><p>"It would be ... inappropriate without a doubt."</p><p> </p><p>“Why?” He pretended not to understand.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë looked at him seriously.</p><p>
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</p><p>“For many reasons. And you know them all ... Fëanáro. I have invited you to dinner and we have… seen each other without the distance of the stage separating us. Now, I want to know: what do you want from me, Fëanáro?”</p><p>
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</p><p>The prince put the silver spoon with which he ate his dessert on the table and leaned against the back of the seat. He stared at Helkemmírë, eyes like diamonds of living fire.</p><p>
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</p><p>"You know what I want from you, Helkemmírë," he finally answered in a slightly hoarse voice.</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë met his gaze, refusing to admit that heat spilled into his lower belly at the predatory gleam in the prince's eyes and smile, at the exquisite threat promised by his velvet voice.</p><p>
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</p><p>"No, I don't know," he replied with an effort, keeping his tone distant. “I have no idea what you want ... or your son. I don't know what you think you will achieve by coming every night, drawing attention to me, causing others to murmur… I don't know what you want, Your Highness, because what you are implying… is not possible to happen.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Slowly, he rose to his feet, with the grace of a queen and the coldness of a warrior. Fëanáro raised his eyes to his impassive face, as if carved in marble, and followed suit, rising to his feet.</p><p>
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</p><p>"You say you will not tie anyone," he reminded her, putting his fists on the table to lean forward slightly. "If you have a lover, they must be stupid, letting people see you the way they do, on stage... with the swords..."</p><p> </p><p>"No one is born to control my destiny, Prince Fëanáro," she challenged with a dangerous smile.</p><p> </p><p>“I hope so. I know you have no interest in my son …”</p><p> </p><p>"I never encouraged the hopes of Prince Macalaurë," she declared promptly.</p><p> </p><p>“I know. You cannot command anyone's heart. It is impossible for anyone to meet you and not lose their mind.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë pouted dismissively.</p><p>
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</p><p>"You don't know me at all, son of Finwë," she shrugged as she stepped away from the table. “And don't waste your rich vocabulary convincing me that you've lost your mind for me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Helkemmírë …”</p><p> </p><p>"It is time for you to go, Your Highness," Helkemmírë declared firmly, indicating the stairway with a half-extended hand. “It's late.”</p><p> </p><p>"Are you kicking me out?"</p><p> </p><p>"I only promised you a dinner, in return for your gift. There will be no more than one or the other. And it would be better for everyone if you never come back to this house again, Your Highness.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë calmly turned, walking away in the direction of the French windows that led to his chambers. He was reaching the threshold when the prince's callused hand closed around his wrist and a jerk spun his in place. Helkemmírë met Fëanáro's face so close that he almost squinted so as not to be blinded by his beauty and the fire of his gaze. He tried to back up and tripped over the rock wall. He leaned against the wall, not struggling to free himself; but holding the prince's gaze in silent defiance.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro ran over the beautiful face with dilated pupils. The scent of gardenias and molten snow filled his lungs, pouring freshness into him and fueling his desire. He held Helkemmírë's wrist between his fingers as he lifted his other hand to caress the curve of the dancer's jaw.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë pursed his lips as the prince's fingers dug into the hair at the back of his neck, forcing him to bow his head. Raising both hands, he rested them on the chest covered by the crimson robe with bronze embroidery.</p><p> </p><p>"No…" he ordered when Fëanáro's breath brushed his lips.</p><p>
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</p><p>Finwë's son stopped, not touching Helkemmírë's lips with his own.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I'm coming back," he finally declared, so low it was barely audible. “I will return every day. I'm going to look for you ... to hunt you ... until our paths are so tangled that they become one. I will make jewelry for you… jewelry that will have starlight just for you. I will never give up and you -you will accept that it is our destiny, that nothing can prevent us from meeting ... that you and I are tied, whatever you say now.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro's voice slid inside him like liquid fire, leaving a trail of thirst and certainty. Helkemmírë could feel his fears and opinions melt like ice in the coming of spring. One more word ... and he would surrender, let him see his body - <em> his soul </em> - and let Mother Earth decide later.</p><p>
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</p><p>The hand in his hair disappeared, as did the one holding his wrist. Helkemmírë opened his eyes and saw Fëanáro from behind, hurrying towards the steps. The prince did not look back before beginning to descend.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë closed his eyes again. Turning in place, he pressed his burning cheek against the cold stone and pretended to ignore the arousal his feminine clothes concealed. At that moment, he knew that he could not escape: even if he despised him when discovering the truth, if he rejected him, if he broke his heart in a hail of glass ... all the paths of his music led to Fëanáro.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>** Huë-pimpi: from Quenya 'huë', nine - then replaced by nertë, and pimpë, tail. Uh ... yeah, it's a kitsune or nine-tailed fox.</p><p> </p><p>***Once again, if you don't understand the pronoun changes when referring to Helkemmírë, any suggestions to make it more 'drinkable' are welcome. I use feminine pronouns while writing from Fëanáro's POV and switch to masculine pronouns when using Helkemmírë's POV.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. 1.13 Insuperable distances</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The jewels had not stopped arriving. Day after day. Sometimes a box when Laurelin was barely glowing and another when Telperion was beginning to thrive. Necklaces, bracelets, rings, bangles, belts, earrings, cameos, tiaras ... aquamarines, lapis lazuli, turquoise, sapphire, labradorite, azurite ... blue diamonds, galactic gold ... always cut in the shape of stars. Shooting stars, stars tracing constellations, stars like snow flowers…</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë had not used any. And in three weeks, Fëanáro had not failed to attend the dancer's performances. And his gifts hadn't failed to arrive, either. The jewels accumulated in their precious carved boxes and in Helkemmírë's closet.</p><p> </p><p>In the silence of the Telperion hours, Helkemmírë gazed at the jewels, spread out on his bed like offerings, and fantasized about wearing them on his bare skin, and dancing with his swords for <em> a single spectator </em>. With the return of Laurelin's light, the fantasies faded and Helkemmírë kept Fëanáro's gifts, pretending to ignore what they awakened in him. But when his next presentation arrived, inevitably, he looked for the beaten silver eyes that watched him from the same box.</p><p>
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</p><p>………………………………….</p><p>
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</p><p>Among the elves who made the Great Journey, the Noldor had been the most divided. The Vanyar had severed any connection to the Twilight Lands' savage past while the Teleri remained tethered to the sea and the memory of a lost king, always seeking the light of the stars. The Noldor, on the other hand, had fragmented - like a crystal glass dropped to the ground.</p><p>
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</p><p>The Kemendili refused to let go of the past, proud of their dreams, of the nightmares that the light of Aman could not erase, of the names that the darkness devoured and that they would not forget. The Valaduri, by contrast, had charted their lives from the moment they arrived in Aman, proclaiming their allegiance to the Valar - their saviors - as their sole source of pride. However, even among these there were divisions as each faction regarded a different Vala as a true savior and protector of the Eldar. The largest and most powerful group was the Aulenduri.</p><p>
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</p><p>The Aulenduri grouped those families who had chosen to receive training from Aulë and his Maiar. Among them, the most important was Mahtan Aulendili. The blacksmith Mahtan had made the Great Journey, being one of the most ardent advocates of leaving Endorë and accepting the invitation of the Valar. Already in Coivienéni, he had been one of the most renowned craftsmen, so when he arrived in Valinor, it was natural that he chose to become Aulë's apprentice. Then he was followed by many more.</p><p>
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</p><p>Mahtan and his followers - almost all apprentices of Aulë or his own - had built their homes near the Forges of the Vala, away from Tirion. The cluster of farms and workshops was a village in its own right. Although subjects of the Noldóran, the Aulenduri followed their own customs, concentrating on the creation and research of minerals. An adolescent Fëanáro had arrived at their workshops many years ago, when his thirst for knowledge could no longer be satisfied by the books that Rúmil offered him. After twenty years of apprenticeship, the prince left Mahtan's workshops married with his daughter and with a baby on the way.</p><p>
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</p><p>Nerdanel had been born and raised among the Aulenduri, long before Míriel left for Mandos. The fire and genius of Finwë's son had overshadowed the ideals that Mahtan had instilled in her since childhood, and with her husband, the young woman had gone to Tirion, to discover that she loved more to cut shapes from rocks than to mold metals. Years later, and mother of five children, Nerdanel lived most of the year in the Noldorin capital; but not a month went by without her visiting her father's house.</p><p>
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</p><p>Hyellemaitë sensed the arrival of her only daughter long before Nerdanel arrived at the door of her small glass-blowing workshop. The lady stripped off her thick leather gloves and slid the glass-screen mask that protected her face up onto her head, over her dark hair.</p><p>
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</p><p>Unlike her daughter - who at that time wore a gray tunic with ocher yellow details and a diadem of tiny diamonds between her braided hair - Master Mahtan's wife wore baggy pants, leather boots, and a wide shirt over which she wore the apron with the pockets arranged for the tools of her work. The lady's hair was tied up in a twisted bun at the nape of her neck, and her face showed lines of weariness around her soft-misty eyes.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Mamil," Nerdanel greeted, bowing briefly, "your blessing."</p><p>
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</p><p>Hyellemaitë raised an eyebrow; but with a nod, she replied:</p><p>
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</p><p>"Always bright days for you, yendë. What brings you here? Did you bring the boys?”</p><p> </p><p>"Not today, mother. Tyelkormo has started his lessons in the arena and Carnistir has chosen to stay with Queen Indis. Once again. Atarinkë wanted to stay with his brother and the queen.”</p><p>
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</p><p>A smile parted Hyellemaitë's lips.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Vanima always had a good hand with children," she commented. “They followed her everywhere, even when she was…”</p><p>
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</p><p>The woman stopped and frowned as she realized she was almost talking too much. Her daughter glanced at her. When she did not speak again - now absorbed in some memory - Nerdanel sighed surreptitiously.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Sometimes I forget that Indis was also born on the other side of the sea."</p><p>
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</p><p>Her mother looked at her and gave a resigned smile.</p><p>
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</p><p>"We all forget. So, my dear, what brings you here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing special. I miss the calm here. Everything in Tirion is so… hectic. Everyone is in a hurry all the time and there is too much noise. Sometimes it is impossible to find the necessary peace to work.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Hyellemaitë shrugged.</p><p>
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</p><p>"You can always come back whenever you want. This is your home, Istarwen.”</p><p> </p><p>"My house is now my husband's house, mother," the younger one reminded her. “It would be unthinkable for me to turn away from him.”</p><p> </p><p>"I was just suggesting that you spend a few weeks… months here. Until you could work better. Why should I think that you would fall apart from the father of your children?”</p><p> </p><p>"Perhaps because you never agreed to our marriage in the first place," Nerdanel pointed out in a tone of content reproach.</p><p>
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</p><p>Her mother walked to a stool and pulled it to straddle, resting her arms on the back.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I still think that Míriel's son chose with anger and rebellion rather than with his heart and head. He didn't want to keep you or be with you: he just wanted to enrage his father, show Finwë that he too could get himself a new family.”</p><p> </p><p>"We have five children, Mama, by Varda Elentári!" The sculptress became impatient. “We're happy! Why have you never wanted to accept that Fëanáro loves me?”</p><p> </p><p>"Your husband loves himself too much to feel anything more than appreciation for you. I do not deny that there was an attraction between you ... that it still exists; but love ... love is too huge a word, my daughter.”</p><p> </p><p>"You don't know what you're talking about. Fëanáro adores our children.”</p><p> </p><p>"His children, Nerdanel. <b>His</b>. His work. His children are that to him: creations of his flesh and spirit over which he believes he has property rights. True, he loves them. He loves them so much that you are leftover in that equation.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mother!”</p><p>
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</p><p>Hyellemaitë watched her daughter calmly. The hurt and angry expression that twisted Nerdanel's face pained her, but there was nothing she could do but be honest. She was convinced that the sooner her daughter woke up from the dream that she built herself, the better it would be for everyone - including Nerdanel herself.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Deep down, you know I'm telling only the truth, Istarwen," she sighed. “It is for that reason that you are here instead of discussing with him what concerns you. Speak, my daughter: despite my opinion, I am here to listen to you… and to support you.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Nerdanel seemed to consider the motherly words for a few minutes. Finally, she went to a chair that was leaning against the wall and sat with her back very straight, clasping her hands in her lap.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Fëanáro… he hardly talks to me. He goes out almost every day and when he is at home, he is constantly in the workshop. Working.”</p><p> </p><p>"Does he have a new project? I heard that he established good relations with our Ingolmorin friends.”</p><p> </p><p>"It's not that," Nerdanel shook her head. “Jewelry. He makes jewelry. It is as if he invents them in the few hours when he rests. There are days when he makes up to two, three jewels a day …”</p><p> </p><p>"He is abusing the words of power." Hyellemaitë frowned. “I have seen it before. His spirit may wear out if …”</p><p> </p><p>“Wear out? Fëanáro?” Nerdanel laughed. “Oh mom, you don't know him at all! The more he works, the more energy he has. And this ... this euphoria is caused by someone. He has a lover, that's for sure. But I have no idea who it is. I've seen ... Telperien and she didn't wear any of the jewelry. If it were her, she wouldn't have held back to show everyone that they're together again.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Hyellemaitë bit the corner of her mouth.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Telperien is less… rude than you think, Nerdanel. That she was your husband's mistress, before you were married to him, doesn't make her a monster. I had many lovers before I married Mahtan,” she concluded with a shrug.</p><p> </p><p>"Oh mother, you can't compare… the situation. You lived in… in barbarism. We are in Aman now. Besides, you know how my father hates you mentioning those things.”</p><p> </p><p>"They won't disappear just for you not mention them, my dear. However, since you’re convinced that it is not Telperien who is ... 'drawing' Fëanáro's attention, who do you think it is? And what are you planning to do? I hope it's not making a fuss.”</p><p> </p><p>"I would never lower myself like that. But I would like to know what this woman has to provoke such… enthusiasm in him. I've never seen him so ... it makes me fear that it is ... definitive.”</p><p> </p><p>"Definitive ... how? Do you think that Fëanáro could leave you for this person?”</p><p>
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</p><p>Nerdanel bit his lower lip.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Finwë would not allow it," she finally said.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you counting on your father-in-law to intervene to save your marriage? A marriage that would have ended otherwise. That's so wrong, my dear. ” She shook his head slowly. “In any case, you've always known that Fëanáro has… lovers. You know that you are not ... you are not able to appease the fire of his spirit. Sooner or later, he'll find someone who ... can do something about all that fire, either quell it or ... feed it.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Nerdanel blinked, taken aback by her mother's words.</p><p>
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</p><p>"You said you would support me."</p><p> </p><p>“And I support you, darling; but I am also honest. You know how I think. This is why I didn't want you to marry him: because one day you would understand that you …” </p><p>
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</p><p>She made a helpless gesture when she couldn't find the words.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Am I not enough for him?" Nerdanel replied, getting to her feet. “Is that what you think of me, mother? Do you value me so little?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t…”</p><p> </p><p>"Well, enough or not, I'm his wife, and he can't break what binds us together."</p><p> </p><p>"A ceremony does not bind two people, Nerdanel."</p><p> </p><p>"Not even a ceremony blessed by the Valar?"</p><p> </p><p>"Not even the Valar can rule the hearts of the elves."</p><p> </p><p>"I'll talk to father," the sculptress decided. “He will understand me. You ... you never want to understand me.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Furious, she left the workshop.</p><p>
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</p><p>Hyellemaitë remained in the same position, leaning back slightly, with her legs extended on either side of her seat. She may not fully understand what her daughter thought she could achieve by talking to Mahtan; but what she did know was that she couldn't force her heart to follow a melody that didn't speak to her.</p><p>
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</p><p>……………………………………….</p><p>
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</p><p>"Blessed are these eyes that see you, gorgeous prince of fire!"</p><p>
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</p><p>Maitimo half-turned to see the young man who had just greeted him from the other side of the pastry shop window. Frowning, the prince searched for familiar faces around the kemendil.</p><p>
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</p><p>“What are you doing here?” he demanded, approaching the shop window.</p><p> </p><p>"Buy cakes. This place has a very good reputation. And you?”</p><p> </p><p>"I'm going to… That's too many cakes." He raised an eyebrow at the bags Findekáno carried in his arms.</p><p>
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</p><p>The adolescent lowered his gaze and raised it back to the Fëanárion's face.</p><p>
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</p><p>"You don't think I'm going to eat this all by myself, do you? We are a few at home.”</p><p> </p><p>"Are you going to share them with Hyandawen?"</p><p> </p><p>"Mhn… Hyandawen prefers the sweets that Grandma Morivanessë bakes."</p><p>
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</p><p>The use of kinship aroused the curiosity of Maitimo, who observed his young interlocutor carefully.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Are you the grandson of Massanië Morivanessë?"</p><p> </p><p>"Not because of blood," Findekáno smiled. “But that doesn't matter between us.”</p><p> </p><p>“And your parents?”</p><p> </p><p>"Well and happy. My father is the adopted son of Morivanessë; but he's a little ... jealous of his privacy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Adoptive?”</p><p>
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</p><p>Findekáno studied the prince's handsome face, narrowing his precious blue eyes and after a few seconds, he inquired cautiously:</p><p>
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</p><p>"Do you know my grandmother personally, Maitimo?"</p><p> </p><p>"N-no. Massanië Morivanessë does not attend Court and …”</p><p> </p><p>"My grandmother is a Sikilwendë. She’s not welcome in the ‘shining court’, Prince Maitimo.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Maitimo's jaw dropped. Among all the stories that ran about the courage of the she-warrior who faced the darkness, who danced under the stars with obsidian blades tied to her long braids, who killed nightmares and protected the host of the Noldor during the Great Travel, no one had mentioned that the dark dancer was a <em> Fëar atta </em> , a <em> sikilwendë </em>, a 'blessed one'.</p><p>
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</p><p>“I did not know. Sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>"You didn't have to know," Findekáno shrugged casually. “If your tutor had not been Rúmil, you would not have even heard what Morivanessë did for our people so that we would sit under the light of the Trees and sing praises to the Valar. Ironic, right? My grandmother fought to give us freedom and she…”</p><p>
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</p><p>His face had hardened, taking on the same cold beauty as Hyandawen. Maitimo frowned, noticing the resemblance. Suddenly, Findekáno blinked and reached into one of the bags while offering, laughing:</p><p>
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</p><p>"A cake, my prince of fire? Lauro and I cannot eat all this, and Nessanië is on a diet: Nísimelindë told her that she has gained weight.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Maitimo allowed himself to be infected by the boy's spirit and accepted a sweet. Findekáno took another and devoured it quickly, humming as he chewed, ending up with his face smeared with sugar. The son of Fëanáro watched him, being amazed at how young the kemendil was ... and how exquisitely beautiful he was: in a few more years, Findekáno would make people turn around in his wake, dream of his eyes and mouth, he would be King of Tirion if he pleased.</p><p>
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</p><p>Findekáno caught the prince's gaze and pouted.</p><p>
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</p><p>"What do you see in me, prince of fire?"</p><p> </p><p>"One of these days you're going to be Tirion's most handsome elf, little star," Maitimo replied in the same mischievous tone.</p><p>
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</p><p>Findekáno felt his heart skip two beats; but he managed to recover enough to assure, playfully:</p><p> </p><p>"Don't be afraid of that, my beautiful Maitimo: you've already conquered me."</p><p> </p><p>Maitimo laughed at the adolescent's impudence.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. 1.14 Fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Helkemmírë entered his bedroom and closed the door behind him. Dust of gold and sapphires illuminated his lids and cheekbones, spreading to his temples. His inky hair was still combed in tight braids that were joined in a bun at the top of the head, with silver pins that imitated thin branches from which tiny flowers hung tied by chains. In one of his hands, he still held the hilt of the sword he used during the dance.</p><p>
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</p><p>He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, forcing his heart to slow down. His free hand rose to his throat and the tips of his cold fingers brushed the vanyarin silver choker from which hung a single aquamarine carved in the shape of a <em> nieninquë. </em> It had arrived that very afternoon, just a few minutes before Helkemmírë came down to the dressing rooms: it was the first jewel sent by the prince that he used and he was not even sure why he chose to do it today, why this one.</p><p>
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</p><p>He sighed, dropping his eyelids and loosening the fist gripping the sword. He remembered the flash in Fëanáro's gaze - a flash that became an inescapable fire - when he discovered the choker around his neck. He had almost been able to feel it while dancing. He had almost been able to feel the pressure of Finwë's son's fëa against his body, against his mind, like a caress, like a claim.</p><p>
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</p><p>He sighed once more and opened his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Without moving, he looked at the figure standing in the doorway.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro had left the box as briskly as he could without actually running. He had not forgotten the way to Helkemmírë's chambers - he had refrained from walking it all the times before. He had been waiting for a sign, a note, an invitation ... but for almost a month, Helkemmírë had been impassive: she had not been grateful for the jewels, she had not even given evidence of having received them! Until today. Today Helkemmírë had gone on stage wearing one of his jewels.</p><p>
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</p><p>Míriel's son had spent days awake, imagining how the jewels would rest on Hyandawen's bare skin. He had imagined how metal and gems were warmed by the warmth of her body; slender fingers tracing the facets of the sapphires, drawing the lapis lazuli’s veins...</p><p>He stopped when he reached the door that separated the balcony from the bedroom. Helkemmírë was there - so close at last and yet as far away as when she danced - and her fingers touched the gem while her eyes remained closed. Then she opened her eyes and Fëanáro saw them sparkle like ice stars. He took a step into the bedroom.</p><p>
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</p><p>The sword fell at Helkemmírë's feet with a muffled sound.</p><p> </p><p>"Welcome ... Fëanáro," he said in a low, slightly hoarse voice.</p><p> </p><p>The name rolled on his tongue like a caress and the prince felt his chest fill with longing.</p><p> </p><p>"You're using it," he commented, holding his gaze.</p><p> </p><p>A slow, catlike smile curved Hyandawen's lips.</p><p> </p><p>"It was about time, don't you think?"</p><p> </p><p>"I've been waiting to see one of my jewels on you," Fëanáro agreed through clenched teeth.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë turned away from the door and took a few steps across the bedroom, toward his closet. Turning his back on the prince, he opened it wide and took out the gifts by the handful. He spun around on his jeweled arms and let them slide down to his feet.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro did not take his eyes off his made-up face.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Are you trying to buy me, Your Highness?" He asked, narrowing his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"Convince you."</p><p> </p><p>"To invite you to dinner again? Or to open my… <em> doors </em> for you?” he concluded with a crooked smile.</p><p>
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</p><p>"To use them. On your bare skin. I want to see the stars on your body, Helkemmírë.”</p><p> </p><p>"I didn't ask you for any of this," he shrugged, pushing a necklace toward him with the toe of his bare foot.</p><p> </p><p>"I wanted to give it to you. I want to. Still. You know I won't stop sending you gifts.”</p><p>
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</p><p>As he spoke, Fëanáro began to advance. Helkemmírë narrowed his eyes, but he didn't say anything to stop him.</p><p>
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</p><p>The prince closed the distance between them with cautious, but determined steps. He did not look away from his prey, filling himself with <em> her </em> beauty, with the softness with which the sea-green dress with many layers of chiffon hugged <em> her </em> slender figure. He came to Hyandawen and sank slowly to <em> her </em> feet, on one knee. He rummaged through the jewels and picked up an ankle bracelet with hexagons of labradorite set in the middle of raised flowers. He reached under the pleats of <em> her </em> skirt and wrapped his fingers around the ballerina's ankle.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë watched silently as the Crown Prince lifted the hem of his dress to reveal his foot. With a firm hand, Fëanáro wrapped the ankle bracelet around his ankle. He hadn't erred to the extent and he knew it. A shudder ran through Helkemmírë's skin - from the point where the prince's fingers were still brushing.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro was satisfied that he calculated Helkemmírë’s measurements correctly. <em> Her </em> feet were small, but <em>her</em> legs were firm and rounded like a teen athlete's. Beneath the layers of the skirt, narrow hips and a firm rear, thighs white and hard as marble, a flat and smooth stomach were guessed. The prince's eyes lifted beyond the bow at the waist, to the overlapping neckline lapels that concealed <em> her </em>chest, to the face half-hidden in the soft gloom of the room.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro placed Helkemmírë's foot on the ground and rose calmly to his feet, as if afraid to frighten her. When their faces were level, he delighted to observe <em> her </em> features closely.</p><p>Helkemmírë's beauty was unique: chiseled features softened by the closeness of coming of age only in the past, proud Noldorin features sweetened with the elegance of the Vanyar. No pure Noldo would have eyes that ice blue and Fëanáro knew it. <em> Her </em> ears were slightly more pointed, adorned with tiny blue diamonds linked by little silver chains. And <em> her </em> mouth… Fëanáro had fantasized about that full, generous mouth, with thick lips painted with carmine; he had fantasized about biting and licking… and claiming that mouth.</p><p>
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</p><p>The prince bent down in search of Helkemmírë's closed lips and paused before touching them, waiting for the refusal, waiting for the order that would send him back to the forge, at dreamy hours. But Helkemmírë did not speak and Fëanáro finished closing the distance between them.</p><p>
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</p><p>First, he ran his over <em> her </em> lips, tracing them, adoring them. Then he licked them slowly - they tasted like ripe plums and rose petals. Finally, he bit - gently, pulling the bottom patiently, begging them to open for him, sliding his tongue between them as he nibbled.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë felt his stomach sink, open, and churn. The world ceased to exist and his body seemed too small to contain his soul. He was going to explode. He was going to explode at any moment.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro drew back a sigh as Helkemmírë's lips parted. Immediately, he returned to claim what he had earned.</p><p>
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</p><p>They kissed without touching with their hands, only their mouths meeting, containing the universe.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro leaned closer, raising a hand to rest on Helkemmírë's hip, not letting go, still drinking from <em> her </em> lips anxiously. His other hand lifted to rest against the curve of <em> her </em> throat encircled by the collar, his thumb stroking the curve under <em> her </em>earlobe.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë arched back briefly and responded by raising his hands to grasp one of the prince's shoulders and tangle his fingers in the loose black hair.</p><p> </p><p>The kisses grew in intensity, their bodies moving together, following a melody that only their <em> fëar </em> heard. Fëanáro's legs tangled in the folds of Helkemmírë's skirt as they both instinctively moved.</p><p>
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</p><p>With the arrangement of the bedroom etched in his mind, Finwë's son led their steps to the bed.</p><p>
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</p><p>By itself, the bed was almost a separate bedroom. The wooden frame, in a square shape, surrounded the mattress, leaving access only through the sides, covered by silk curtains.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro reached over Helkemmírë's shoulder and parted a curtain, gently nudging his companion.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë sank down onto the overstuffed mattress, his skirt swirling at his knees. For a second, he thought he must stop this before reaching a point where… His mind stopped working as Fëanáro loomed over him, propping himself up on one knee and an outstretched arm.</p><p>
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</p><p>They stared at each other for a few seconds and Morivanessë's son suddenly understood that it was he who unbuttoned the prince's tunic and loosen the ribbons of his undershirt, that he was the one to ruffle the dark hair and bite those fleshy lips until a spot of blood stained the lower one. He held out his hands to meet Fëanáro as he descended for his mouth once more.</p><p>
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</p><p>For a few endless minutes, they drank from each other's mouths, their bodies separated by too many clothes, too much distance. Helkemmírë threw back his head and let out a sigh as the prince descended, kissing his chin, his neck, the hollow in which his clavicles met.</p><p>
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</p><p>He was faintly aware of the hardness that pressed against his thigh, rubbing with each gentle thrust of the crown prince's hips. A flash of reason lit up the kemendil's mind, who woke up, blinking repeatedly.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro made a short sound of surprise as he fell backward onto the bed. He looked up to find Helkemmírë's handsome face inches from his own: makeup had faded over pale skin, lipstick stained the corners of <em> her </em> parted mouth. So beautiful. The fire of desire filled the prince's chest and belly.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë evaded the hands that sought to hold his head. He descended through the Crown Prince's throat, pushing the robe completely away with his long fingers. His parted mouth followed the path of his nimble hands, tracing muscles across the white shirt. He stopped when his face was level with the other elf's crotch: before his curious gaze, the beige fabric of his leggings outlined a long, rigid bulge.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro propped himself up on his elbows to watch Hyandawen trace his sex with <em> her </em> fingertips. A shudder ripped through his entire body. Unable to look away, he watched <em> her </em> lower <em> her </em> head, open <em> her </em> mouth wider, and press the tip of his cock through his hose. A roar of pleasure erupted in his throat, forcing him to close his eyes for a moment.</p><p>
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</p><p>He pressed the sheet between his clenched fingers, trying not to move. Helkemmírë's tongue kept pressing on the same point, wetting the fabric, outlining the crown of the cock. His sex began to throb, begging, demanding more, and a groan ripped from his parted lips like a prayer.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë leaned back only to untie the ties of Fëanáro’s breeches. As soon as he managed to tug on the garment a little, the prince's erection broke free, standing shaky and powerful. Under the several layers of his skirt, his own sex stirred, imprisoned in the silk lingerie that was wetting in anticipation. He fought the urge to reach under his clothes and caress himself as he stared at the beautiful cock standing before his face, waiting.</p><p> </p><p>He took it in his mouth. He braced himself on the ground before the bed, knees apart to avoid pressing on his own sex, and lowered his head to devour Fëanáro with one blow.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Oh, Eru!" gasped the prince, arching back, pulling himself into the warmth that enveloped him.</p><p>
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</p><p>He hadn't dared to expect that much tonight. Of course, he had dreamed of Helkemmírë's mouth on his manhood. He had imagined it dozens of times as he took himself in his own hand and came to release, gasping compliments and promises. He had imagined more, -much more! -than he would dare to confess. But he hadn't dreamed that this first night he would feel like this. He would have been content with kisses - he, Curufinwë Fëanáro, Crown Prince of the Noldor, who had 'almost' everything he wanted, would have been content with a kiss from Helkemmírë.</p><p>
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</p><p>The thoughts melted into a mist of growing pleasure. Hyandawen's lips traveled the length of his sex up and down, lingering at the base, sucking under its head. <em> Her </em> tongue pressed against his hard flesh, taking its time in the hole from which the already irrepressible presemen flowed. His hips bucked, ramming Helkemmírë's throat. He enjoyed the pressure on the tip of his cock and moaned a warning.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë did not back down as the fluids filled his mouth. He forced himself to breathe through his nose as he swallowed, digging his nails into the prince's thighs. Between his legs, he felt his own cock stir, contract, release the thick liquid that moistened his underwear.</p><p>He leaned back, letting go of Fëanáro's still half-hard cock. He wiped the corner of his mouth with the side of his hand, licking his thumb where a trace of semen remained.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro rolled onto his side, gasping for air, half to his feet to catch Helkemmírë by one forearm and pull toward his body.</p><p>
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</p><p>Hyandawen collapsed on the bed next to the prince, gazing into the still more beautiful face in the calm that followed pleasure. Before he could think what to do next, Fëanáro leaned over him and, taking him by the side of his head, kissed his mouth hungrily.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë was lost back in the kisses that devoured and demanded. Parted lips made their way to his ear, eliciting faint groans from him.</p><p>
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</p><p>"My turn, my star," Fëanáro whispered in a voice like thick honey. “I'm going to savor you. I'm going to fill my mouth with you.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë felt the world freeze. He felt the hand move up his thigh, sliding inward, seeking his center. He understood what he had done, what Fëanáro wanted to do, and was aware of how much he lost control, how much he let the ice barriers fall.</p><p>
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</p><p>No no no no no! He could not know ... Fëanáro could not discover what his disguise was hiding. Fëanáro could not find out that Hyandawen… Helkemmírë… was just a mask, a shell of makeup and dresses that hid the hunger of a warrior. He couldn't let him see him.</p><p>
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</p><p>“No!” he ordered as he pushed him away from him.</p><p>
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</p><p>He jumped from the bed and with quick steps, he walked away from him, from the temptation. Inside him, a tug nearly took his breath away, as if parting with Fëanáro was like stabbing himself.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>
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</p><p>He turned to see the prince sitting on the edge of the bed. With his hair tousled, his clothes undone, his sex resting loosely between his legs, the glow of lust still setting fire to his silver beaten eyes, Fëanáro was life itself asking to be devoured and Helkemmírë wondered what it would feel like if …</p><p>
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</p><p>“You have to go. This should never have happened… it won't happen again.”</p><p> </p><p>"You want me as much as I want you, Helkemmírë," Fëanáro declared, rising to his feet.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you talking about wanting just because I gave you a blowjob?" he gave an obscene laugh.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro clenched his jaw.</p><p>
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</p><p>"You want me as I want you. I have known it from the first moment.”</p><p> </p><p>"I am attracted to you," Helkemmírë admitted. “Let's not talk about anything else. But it's not worth the complications you would bring me.”</p><p> </p><p>"I felt you came at the same time I did."</p><p>
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</p><p>As raw as they were delicious, his words hardened Helkemmírë's sex again.</p><p>
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</p><p>“What…?” Panic made his voice tremble.</p><p> </p><p>"I felt your <em> fëa </em>pulsing with mine. Not every day you enjoy that. Not all my lovers have made my fëa accompany my body in sex.”</p><p> </p><p>"I'm ... that good ... giving blowjobs," he tried to tease in a small voice.</p><p>
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</p><p>Fëanáro approached with feline steps, not looking away.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Let me touch you. Let me feel your naked body against mine. Let me take you in my mouth ... and make your spirit sing again, Helkemmírë.”</p><p>
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</p><p>The kemendil closed his eyes, rejecting the power of his voice, the melody he knew called out to him from every ring - like a promise, like a warning, like a memory.</p><p>
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</p><p>"It's not worth it," he repeated. “Tempting as the offer sounds… it's not worth so much trouble just for jewels I don't wear and a good fuck. Go, prince Fëanáro, and do not return.”</p><p>
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</p><p>He didn't open his eyes, listening to the other's heavy breathing. He knew he was holding back not to insist ... and he valued him more for it.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I will not force you to accept me," Fëanáro said at last, in a restrained tone. “I could. I could force you and you would give in ... because what your mouth denies me, your body and your spirit tell me. You belong to me, Helkemmírë. We are fated… and you won't be able to stay away from me forever.”</p><p>
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</p><p>He kept his eyelids down as Fëanáro crossed the bedroom and went wherever he came.</p><p>
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</p><p>……………………………………………….</p><p>
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</p><p>Morivanessë turned on the spot when she saw her son appear. Even if he had not grown in her womb, connected to her body and spirit, she knew him as her own mind and in that instant, she knew that Arakáno suffered.</p><p>
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</p><p>Still wearing the dress he wore in the performance, his makeup gone and his hair disheveled, Helkemmírë offered an image difficult to reconcile with his personality.</p><p>
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</p><p>"My son," Morivanessë greeted him, spreading her open hands.</p><p>
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</p><p>For the first time in more than two hundred years, Arakáno did not come to her. Instead, he spun on the spot with his gaze unfocused and took a few random steps.</p><p> </p><p>"He ... came into my bedroom."</p><p> </p><p>“He?· Morivanessë asked, lowering her hands slowly.</p><p> </p><p>"The prince… Fëanáro. He came into my bedroom and… and… we…”</p><p> </p><p>“Arakáno, did he force you to do something you didn't want to?” the lady demanded as she took a few steps forward and a flash of ice crossed her dark eyes.</p><p>
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</p><p>Helkemmírë slowed his erratic steps and turned in front of her, bewildered. A nervous laugh broke from his lips.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Oh, I wanted to, mother!" he confessed, throwing his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “I want to. I've wanted since I saw him… no, before,” he admitted, lowering his face to gaze abstractedly at the ground before his feet. “Since I saw the jewels he could make, the work of his hands ... I have lusted after Fëanáro. It's ... I feel a thread between us, mother; a thread that twists, tightens, stretches without breaking ... and ties and tightens us until it cuts us. I know he can hurt me so much that my soul would break like ice. But I… I want to feel it even if I break on the road, mother.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Morivanessë took a breath, burying deep in her soul the panic that Arakáno's words would awaken, tearing at her chest. She had loved like this once, before the light, and she understood that longing to risk everything - even the soul - for that.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Then why are you rejecting him? Why are you taking him away from you? He… Fëanáro wants you.”</p><p> </p><p>"Hyandawen," he corrected, his voice vibrating with hatred as he pronounced the name he had worn with pride for years. “<em> He wants Hyandawen </em>. He desires the woman who dances with swords and covers her face with makeup. If he saw me ... if he saw who I am, he, like all his people, would be disgusted, he would curse me, he would regret having looked at me.”</p><p> </p><p>"You don't know that. You have not given him a chance to show you his thoughts… Fëanáro is not like the other Valaduri. His mother was Serindë, one of our …”</p><p> </p><p>"Miriel has been dead for years! She did not teach her son the way of the earth and Finwë… Even if he is not like the others, Fëanáro is still a Valadur, apprentice of Aulë, son-in-law of Aulendil. And that's what hurts, mother. It hurts so bad it tears my chest every night. In Endorë, he would have loved me. Me! Arakáno! Not the mask I wear to dance the song of Mother Earth. In Endorë, he would love my two faces. But here ... here I will always be a farce for him.”</p><p> </p><p>"You could… you could prove yourself wrong, my son. He may surprise you. Why don't you talk to him? Why don't you tell him ...?”</p><p> </p><p>"I won't bear it," he confessed in a whisper, his shoulders sagging. “I will not bear to see the disgust and rejection on his face. I couldn't… I couldn't go on. I'd lose myself forever if he… if I let him break my heart like that.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Arakáno took a few steps and dropped into a chair, leaning forward to hide his face in his hands. Morivanessë went to his side and knelt at his feet: raising one hand, she caressed his forearm.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Do you want me to ban his entry? You will never see him again and none of his gifts will reach you.”</p><p> </p><p>"He doesn't want to give up. And I… I don't feel capable of fighting this desire.”</p><p> </p><p>"Then don't fight, Arakáno. Let Mother Earth take care. Close your eyes and let yourself be carried away by Cémi's song.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Arakáno raised his face, dropping his hands into his mother's as if accepting his defeat.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. 1.15 Family</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ailinel stopped the movement of her fingers and she left the fabric half-made on her lap. Slowly, she got to her feet and pushed the rope she was braiding aside, placing it inside the basket where other skeins were stacked. Without turning in place, she cocked her head.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>"Come in at once, Maicatamo. You are always welcome in my house.”</p><p> </p><p>"It has been many years since someone called me by that name," the elf who had stood on the other side of the cavern threshold pointed out as he advanced slowly.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>The visitor stopped when he reached the circle described by the light of the flames that burned in a rock bowl almost a meter in diameter and raising a hand, he lowered the hood with which he covered his face. Fire lit up his bright red hair and cast shadows on his brown skin.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Ailinel turned in front of him, with the grace of a queen.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>"It's the name my sister gave you when she brought you into the world. Even if you have chosen to forget it.”</p><p> </p><p>"I haven't forgotten my mother, aunt." He frowned. “But there are things that are better left alone.”</p><p> </p><p>"And to leave them alone, you became Mahtan Aulendil, a servant of the Valar."</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Mahtan pursed his lips in a grimace that his thick beard hid.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>"The Valar are the lords of the world. We are all their servants.”</p><p> </p><p>"Arda has no lords, nephew. She is the Mother and we are Her Children.”</p><p> </p><p>"I didn't come to listen to your heretical talks," he held her back with an impatient gesture.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Ailinel raised an eyebrow mockingly.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Didn’t you? So what did you come for, Mahtan? It's been a while since you've deemed me worthy of your filial love.”</p><p> </p><p>"This is not a courtesy call, either, Ailinel."</p><p> </p><p>"I already guessed."</p><p> </p><p>"I'm here on business."</p><p> </p><p>"Business," the Kemendilmë repeated, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. “Since when do you and I have business in common?”</p><p> </p><p>"Since one of your people messes with my family."</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Ailinel tilted her head on one shoulder.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Your family. Part of your family belongs to 'my people', Mahtan Aulendil.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The man looked away. Turning his back on her, he walked away from her in the direction of one of the walls on which hung a tapestry whose creator he had known well. The piece depicted a scene from a hunt in the Savage Lands: a group of half-naked elves wielded bows and arrows as they pursued a huge beast, led by a white-haired warrior with a body painted blue and black.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>A grimace of disgust curved the blacksmith's mouth, who turned once more, away from the image.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“One of your followers is causing problems for my family, meddling in my daughter's life and bringing misfortunes to her house.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Ailinel shrugged.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"Your daughter has never been to The Lakes. I don't see how one of my siblings could have caused her any distress.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"Don't pretend, Ailinel," Mahtan growled through his teeth. “You know everything that happens between the ranks of your sect. You know everything your… 'siblings' do. You know that Curufinwë has been coming to these places frequently. You know he's coming to see a… slut of yours.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The woman held back the grin that threatened to bare her teeth.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“I know that the son of Nolémë, like so many others, has come to The Lakes and has witnessed the skills of our warriors and artists. If he had had relations with one of our sisters ... I have no news and the subject does not concern me either. I don't control what my siblings do with their bodies.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"Curufinwë is a married elf, Ailinel. What that female does, inciting him to sin and to violate our laws…”</p><p> </p><p>"<b>Your</b> laws, Aulendil," she interrupted firmly. When he gaped at her, she continued, more calmly, "Your laws. The laws of the Valar’s servants. Between us, love is free and not even those whose souls are bound in the song of the earth are obliged to keep a fidelity of the body that our nature does not recognize. We come to this world free, naked ... and without chains to clip our wings. If the son of Serindë has found pleasure and freedom in the arms of one of our sisters, what law will prevent him from continuing to do so?”</p><p> </p><p>"Would you allow the lust of a female to draw the punishment of the Valar upon you? Just to hold on to your barbaric ways?”</p><p> </p><p>"Punishment of the Valar? Is Manwë that idle that he spends his time intervening in marital disagreements?” she scoffed.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Mahtan's jaw dropped at her blasphemy. After a few minutes of stupor, he shook his head.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“I try to be reasonable with you, aunt, for everything that unites us …”</p><p> </p><p>"What unites us, Mahtan? The memory of my sister? Not once have you come to honor her on the 'night of the spirits'.”</p><p> </p><p>"There is no ‘night of the spirits’ in Aman," he declared promptly.</p><p>"But there is in Coivienéni -where the bones of your parents bleach being honored only by one of their children. Your mother would be ashamed of who you are now.”</p><p> </p><p>"My mother would have made the same decision as me. She was sage. She would have recognized the truth in the right of the Valar to be our protectors, our rulers, because such is the will of Ilúvatar.”</p><p> </p><p>"Oh nephew, has the gift of shamans been revealed to you at last? Do you hear the voice of Father Heaven?”</p><p> </p><p>"No more nonsense, Ailinel! I have come with goodwill, to give you the opportunity to correct your mistakes and give you the opportunity to prevent misfortune from befalling your people. But if you refuse to cooperate, I will seek the support of the decent and upright Noldor. Finwë will not allow his house and his son to be tainted by your heresy. The Kemendili will pay for having brought sin to these blessed lands.”</p><p> </p><p>"Don't threaten me, brat!" Ailinel roared, taking a step toward him.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Mahtan recoiled, frightened, seeing the dangerous gleam in her green eyes, the sparks of power that tousled the Singer's red hair and illuminated her skin from within.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"How dare you threaten your elders? Have you forgotten all the times I made you bite the dust with my bare hands? Do you think you are stronger than me? You, who gave yourself up to become a puppet of the Valar? You have no power here, Aulendil. Not you, not your cowardly king who has abandoned us.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Hissing with bare fangs like a wolf, the she-elf backed away from Mahtan. For a moment, she turned her back on him, seeking to regain her composure before continuing.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Mahtan took advantage of the distance to compose himself and overcome the respectful fear that his maternal aunt always inspired him.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"I will not intervene in whatever Curufinwë is doing in The Lakes," she finally declared. “The prince is as free to come and go as my siblings are. If your daughter has lost her husband's love, perhaps she should think about finding another path for her life. I'll give you just one piece of advice, nephew: don't force Nerdanel to stay in a union that will bring her pain and humiliation.”</p><p> </p><p>"Marriage is sacred and eternal, Ailinel. You don't understand that.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Without further ado, Mahtan turned on his heel and headed for the mouth of the cave.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"Won't you see your brother?" Ailinel asked, raising her voice.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The blacksmith stopped, hesitant, and almost turned to see her.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>"I don't have a brother," he said quietly. “The boy your heresies perverted is not my brother.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Ailinel was silent, watching him disappear into the shadows of the cave, almost the same way his parents disappeared a thousand years ago, devoured by the shadows of the Dark Enemy; only Mahtan was devoured by a different darkness, one of his own choosing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Maica, sword; tamo, craftsman:  maker of swords; maternal name of Mahtan in this verse.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. 1.16 Storm’s glow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Confession: this chapter did not exist until last night. Now it exists just so Nelly will have the lovebirds missing each other - and challenging the powers of the Valar a bit.</p>
<p>Just so you keep in mind, as the story progresses, the elves' spirit powers will gain prominence.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fëanáro walked down the hall. There must have been a powerful storm brewing because the light from the Trees did not pass through the windows covered with tinted glass. A soft semi-darkness enveloped the place; yet the prince's eyes made out the walls covered by heavy velvet curtains. Between the windows, female statues held heavy candlesticks in their upturned hands, like offerings.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>The prince ignored the dark features of the stone women, whose cheeks were streaked with lines of moisture that resembled tears, and advanced to the end of the corridor, to the door closed by a heavy iron latch. Despite the size of the piece, the stem moved silently and easily, freeing the oak leaf. Fëanáro pulled the door towards him and went out.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>The icy breeze greeted him, forcing him to close the collar of his robe with one hand. His loose hair fluttered in the damp air, and mist clung to his face in a cold caress. He started off, taking a gravel path. Pebbles crunched under his dark fur-lined suede boots. He followed the path that his instincts marked, as if he knew where he was going, as if it were a path that he frequently followed.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>The first source took him by surprise. In the middle of it, Uinen wielded a trident and stood majestically on eight tentacles that emerged from her bare hips. The maia's hair fluttered like a stormy wind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He passed under Uinen's furious gaze and continued.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>The second source was less surprising. Ossë was propelling himself forward, 'hammerhead' protrusions emerging from his temples and his dorsal fin rising from his spine. His smile was a fierce promise of triangular teeth.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Some fifty yards later, Fëanáro barely glanced at the fountain in the center of which Vána stood on one foot as she bent back her head crowned with flowered antlers.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Finwë's son took a detour, avoiding the roundabouts that would lead him to the other four fountains, and crossed the rock garden to reach the pavilion.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>He stopped short when he made out the silhouette in the middle of the arbor. In the slight darkness, the white body glowed. <em> Her </em> hair like a waterfall of ink descended to <em> her </em> thighs, tied in lengths by strings of blue pearls. With <em> her </em> back turned to Fëanáro, arms arched supporting <em> her </em> bare swords, Helkemmírë braved the storm.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>………………………….</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Helkemmírë stopped in the middle of the terrace. Above his head, the sky was covered with dark clouds, veiling Telperion's light: apparently this year 'someone' had managed to get away with it and a real storm would start spring in Aman, the Kemendil thought. </p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>A smile curved his mouth as the wind ruffled his hair tied in lengths with strings of blue pearls. Slowly, he untied the belt that tied the robe around his hips and let the garment slide to his feet. A flash through the clouds illuminated the gems on his body.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>A dark silver bracelet encircled his left arm: amid metallic lace, an oval aquamarine glowed almost chastely. A matching brace sat around his right ankle. The chain encircled his hips, adorned with labradorite tears that rested against his warm skin. A bronze necklace encircled his throat, shining among lotus flowers a polished blue diamond beneath which an obsidian tear hung. Finally, silver and aquamarine earrings adorned his ears — crystal stars glinting in the gloom.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Helkemmírë bent down and picked up the crossed swords on the ground. He held them firmly and took a single breath before raising his arched arms above his head. When the first thunder rumbled over the Blessed Lands, Helkemmírë began to dance.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>……………………………………</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro recognized each of the jewels Helkemmírë wore. They had all been born from his hands as he evoked the harsh beauty of 'his ice jewel’. No one in Tirion - in the world - would ever wear garments like these: each one had been dreamed of and brought to life just for this creature.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thunder rumbled over the ground and Helkemmírë arched back before leaping aside with the grace of a fleeing fawn. <em>Her</em> bare feet made a muffled melody on the flagstones of the gazebo. Lightning illuminated the turns of <em> her </em> hips, the attacks of <em> her </em> hands, the sweet fierceness of <em> her </em> face. Helkemmírë was the wind and the lightning, descending on the earth, striking the tree, bringing shadow and light to the world.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Swords clashed in <em> her </em> hands, shaking the silence of the storm with the memory of battles. The light from sparkles transformed <em> her </em> makeup into lines of blood and dark fire, igniting the ice in <em> her </em> slanted eyes. Once again, <em> her </em> body sang death and passion.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>The prince moved his feet without noticing. He advanced without conscience, drawn by the song of the earth and the storm, defying the wind that was pulling against. All of him was a gale of fire that yearned to envelop the jewel of ice that danced against the wrath of nature.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>He didn't stop until he reached the foot of the gazebo steps. From there, he looked up to see Helkemmírë tracing <em> her </em> dance with the edge of <em> her </em> swords.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Desire dried Fëanáro’s mouth. Passion ran through his body like a discharge of power. Lightning illuminated the gazebo, drawing the jeweled white body, and Fëanáro fell to his knees, ecstatic.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>The rain unleashed from the sky, bathing them both, moistening the parted lips of the prince, who remained immobile before the verification of his dreams: <em> Helkemmírë -he was beautiful.</em></p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>………………………………… </p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Helkemmírë froze, panting as the water trickled down his naked body. Convulsively clenching the blades, he spun in place to meet Fëanáro's fiery gaze.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The terrace was empty and only the growing murmur of the rain responded to the kemendil's ragged breathing.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Gathering the swords in one hand, he ran the other through his soaked hair before walking back to his bedroom.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>………………………………….</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>The outbreak of the storm tore Fëanáro's sleep apart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The prince bounced up onto the bed, his heavy breathing lifting his bare chest. For a few seconds, he didn't know where he was - his eyes unfocused roaming the richly furnished bedroom.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>A flash of lightning lit the room through the ajar window and Fëanáro blinked, coming back to reality with a start. He ran a hand over his chest, feeling the wild beating of his own heart. He threw his head back, filling his lungs with a deep breath.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p><em> Helkemmírë. </em> He again dreamed of Helkemmírë.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>After the dinner they had, the crown prince had returned to the House of Swords as he was doing before; but to his disappointment - and of several attendees, including the scowling Aicecet - Helkemmírë had not appeared on the last two days.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Fëanáro would not give up so soon. He would come back again and again; but if Helkemmírë did not want to, he could not compel<em> her</em>. If Fëanáro did not want something, it was to take her passion against her will. He was convinced that Helkemmírë felt the same way he did; but he understood that the sword dancer did not want to attract upon <em> herself </em>the danger that would entail being the lover of the crown prince, of a married elf close to the Valar.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Another flash of lightning illuminated the chamber and Fëanáro saw that the rain was beginning to come through the window. He pulled the sheet aside to stand and frowned at the wet stain on the front of his white linen pants.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>He left the bed with a sigh. After closing the window, he went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. Looking at his reflection in the polished silver mirror, he remembered Helkemmírë dancing in the storm - so beautiful, <em> so real. </em></p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>……………………………………….</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>“What are you doing?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Arakáno ignored Laurefindë's suspicious smile.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>The blond went to the balcony door and looked at the terrace. The rain whipped across his face before he closed it again and turned in front of his friend.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Arakáno had covered his naked body with a transparent silk robe with embroidered golden flowers and sat before the mirror to comb his wet hair.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>"What were you doing out there?" Laurefindë insisted, circling him as if he were watching over a wild beast.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Dancing, Lauro, what else could I be doing?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Alone?”</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Arakáno gave a short laugh.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>"Have you ever seen me dance with someone?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There is always a first time. And you ... you have changed a lot since Míriel's son came to The Lakes.”</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Helkemmírë's fingers paused as they released the clasp of a string of pearls.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>"How stupid," he grumbled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"He's been here," Laurefindë commented logically. “And you're using his gifts.”</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Arakáno's gaze lingered on the obsidian that rested atop his chest.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>"They are the best jewels in Aman: I will not disdain them."</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Laurefindë frowned as he cautiously approached him. Leaning over his head, he gazed at Helkemmírë's reflection in the silver moon.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>"Arakáno, brother," he began softly, "did you <em> dance the storm </em> for Fëanáro?"</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Now it was Helkemmírë's turn to frown. Meeting his friend's gaze in the mirror, he coldly sneered.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>"Do you really believe that nonsense, Lauro? <em> Dance the storm? </em> What am I? A Singer of Worlds? And if I were, for which I would need much more than dressing like a woman and wearing makeup, how could I <em> dance a storm </em> created by the Valar, outside the laws of nature?”</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Laurefindë straightened, considering his words.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>"I guess you're right," he admitted after a few minutes. “And yet there is a different scent in you.”</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Arakáno shrugged. By refocusing on his hair, he decided that he would return to perform on stage the next day: let the song of Mother Earth decide what it would be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. 1.17 Stars on the skin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Laurefindë straightened his back, resting both hands on the balustrade. His gaze followed the figure of the crown prince across the room: Fëanáro was stopped by two elves, whose vests were adorned by the gray and blue cockade that was beginning to identify the Ingolmor. The kemendil watched the prince converse with the two and then continue on his way to the ladder that led to the level of the boxes. The private access was a recent addition to the structure of the main hall, designed to facilitate communication between the two floors.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Punctual, eh?"</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Laurefindë turned his face to see Findekáno leaning on the railing.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"It shouldn't surprise you anymore," he shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm surprised he doesn't give up. Even the úsulka picked up his own and took off.”</p><p> </p><p>“Chieftain Aicecet was <em>kindly</em> ordered to visit us less frequently.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Findekáno narrowed his eyes.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t tell! Have Sercemaica and Nísimelindë learned the meaning of 'kindly'? This spring is full of surprises.”</p><p> </p><p>"I see that your encounters with Prince Maitimo are beginning to leave their mark on you," Laurefindë pointed out, raising an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I already knew nice words before hanging out with Maitimo. I just wasn't interested in wasting them on you.”</p><p> </p><p>"You hurt me deeply with your disdain," the blond faked grief. “Anyway, it was Helkemmírë who ‘kindly ordered’ Aicecet to visit us less frequently.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Findekáno made a sympathetic gesture, leaning back slightly.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"No wonder he left so soon. My father is very… kind when he wants to.” He glanced at the box in which Fëanáro took a seat while one of the members of the service placed a bottle of wine and a glass on the table. "Will you tell him? Or do I do it?”</p><p> </p><p>"Helkemmírë will not act today," Laurefindë shrugged.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Findekáno took a look at the public gathered in the premises. Rearing up on the balls of one foot, he sat halfway on the railing. He leaned forward - causing his companion to straighten up as if preparing to catch him if he swayed a bit - and nodded to Nessimë, who was welcoming two ladies covered in dark dominoes. On stage, Fëaquildë danced between the blades that two elves exchanged. After a few seconds, the act concluded and Fëaquildë bowed deeply towards the audience, revealing more than her generous cleavage had previously done.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Findekáno narrowed his eyes as he saw the dancer looking at the box occupied by the crown prince before wiggling her hips away.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>For a few minutes, the bustle of chatter filled the air until a guitar began to play. Almost immediately, a violin joined.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Findekáno straightened up in his makeshift seat.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"You were saying, Lauro?" he asked mockingly.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The warrior's blue eyes widened as Helkemmírë advanced to the front of the stage.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>……………………………</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro took seat and thanked the young man for bringing him the wine, handing him a gold seal. He crossed one leg over the other as he settled back in his seat and, glass in hand, watched the audience. He noted the absence of the Úsulkar: at last Aicecet had surrendered and the prince half-smiled, realizing that only Helkemmírë's constant disinterest could have caused his retreat. In general, there were fewer spectators than usual and Fëanáro did not doubt that with Hyandawen's repeated absence, the turnout would have declined.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He sighed as he half-turned to refill his glass.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He should have stopped coming to the House of Swords himself if he had a little common sense. Honestly, he was amazed that Lady Morivanessë had not forbidden his entry into the venue - and even  into The Lakes - for he was certain that everyone knew why Hyandawen refused to perform.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe everyone did not care that the son of the Noldóran came every night to see a dancer who refused to appear.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>His gaze passed over the three elves on the stage without paying attention.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Maybe he should step away for a while. Perhaps he should give Helkemmírë space to reconsider… to feel the pull of desire and need as he felt them.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As if he could…</p><p> </p><p>He scoffed at himself, staring into the bottom of his glass. As if he could get away from Helkemmírë after the storm.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He drank slowly.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He had heard stories. When he was much younger, he had heard stories about the strange powers elves possessed in Coivienéni. Things were still said about the Kemendili: capable of attracting the rains, of covering the stars with mist, of dancing on the waters, of awakening the flowers and plants, of speaking with the languages of the animals... But all that was only legends , old tales whispered to children to fear the sorcery of those who refused to accept the Valar as their saviors. Heresy.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>…………………….</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>Two days before</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Rúmil looked up from the open books on his desk when Fëanáro burst into his study. The teacher made a move to stand up; but seeing the wild glint in the eyes of his former student and seeing him pacing around without speaking, he decided to wait. He knew this state of mind of the son of Finwë. When something escaped Fëanáro's understanding, he behaved like a caged beast while his brain managed to find a way.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Finally, Fëanáro stopped abruptly and turned in front of Rúmil.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>"Songs of power," he said suddenly. “Tell me about them.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Rúmil blinked softly.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>"Songs of power?" He repeated cautiously. “What could I tell you about something that doesn't…?”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Don't pretend to fool me, Rúmil. I know that songs of power do exist. My mother used them in her embroidery. Her rooms are full of works that preserve that… breath.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Rúmil bit the corner of his lower lip, hesitating.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>"They’re forbidden… Not explicitly, of course," he hastened to clarify. “But it is understood that they are. At least among those who recognize Manwë as…”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>"I don't need to listen to a sermon, Rúmil," he interrupted him impatiently. “I want to know how much real they are… how far reaching they have… how much power it takes to play them.”</em>
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</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Rúmil leaned back in his seat, clasping his hands in his lap.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>"Depends on what the song is used for. A manual job ... such as embroidery, weaving ... blacksmithing ... does not require much expenditure of power normally.” He pouted. “It depends on the material you want ... 'bend'.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>"Would it take a lot of power to bend a gem?" Fëanáro inquired, with growing interest.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“I suppose. As I understand it, it is with the songs of power that the weavings-gems that our ladies appreciate so much and that only the kemendili can make are spun.”</em>
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</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Fëanáro nodded. He paced the room again, his head bowed, moutling inaudible words through parted lips. On the third lap, he slowed down until he stopped at Rúmil's table. With his hands on his hips, he asked:</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“About nature ... is it true that nature can be controlled with songs of power?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Rúmil pursed his lips.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>"Controlling nature is a privilege reserved for the Lords of Arda, Fëanáro," he reminded him calmly.</em>
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</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Fëanáro frowned.</em>
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</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“You've seen it. Back in Coivienéni ... you saw how they ... controlled nature.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“No.”</em>
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</p><p>
  <em>The prince was somewhat disturbed by the calm with which he denied it. Rúmil took a deep breath.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>"The Singers do not control nature, Fëanáro; they ‘interweave’ with it. During the time that the song lasts, the singer's fëa and the natural force they summon unite until they are one. They don't dominate it, but join it.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Fëanáro cocked his head thoughtfully. Slowly, he shifted until he was able to sit in the chair by the window.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>"Are there other ways to achieve that? Or just with a song ...?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“The concept of ‘song’ is different for you and we… That is, when you talk about ‘songs of power’, you are not talking about a song itself; but of a melody. The world is made of music, Fëanáro. Eru sang while Arda danced in the center of the universe… or so the Kemendili claim, ” he quickly clarified. “To use a ‘song of power’, one only needs to find the rhythm, the melody. When it comes to ‘interweaving’ with nature, the singer follows the music that it marks.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>"Like in a storm?"</em>
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</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Rúmil watched his former disciple for a few seconds.</em>
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</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>"You have visited the Lakes often recently, Fëanáro," he reflected slowly. “Many Coivienéni traditions are preserved in Ailinel’s caves.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>"Can someone weave their fëa into a storm, Rúmil? Contact someone else when you do?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>"Dancing the storm, it's called. In Coivienéni, warriors used this form to bridge great distances and communicate with others. But nature in Aman is commanded by the Valar; I do not think that…”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>………………….</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro had not asked his old master any more. He knew enough.</p><p> </p><p>At that moment, the melody of a guitar brought him out of his reflections. He looked away from the stage and caught his breath as Helkemmírë advanced slowly.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When the violin joined, Helkemmírë raised <em>her</em> sword, arcing <em>her</em> arm above his head. Long silver pins - mimicking cherry blossom branches - emerged from <em>her</em> black hair gathered at the back of<em> her</em> head. A streak of burnt blood-colored paint surrounded <em>her</em> eyes and black tears ran down<em> her</em> cheekbones. The lower part of <em>her</em> face was covered in white paint, giving the impression that <em>she</em> did not possess a mouth.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A ‘ghost mask’. Fëanáro had seen them in books so old that the Valaduri forgot they existed in the Royal Library. The "singers of death" among the sons of Coivienéni, those who honored the bodies of the fallen in the fight against the darkness of the Enemy.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fascinating. Every time he believed that Helkemmírë could not surprise him, Fëanáro found that he could still be amazed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë leaned to one side and to the music, he spun on the toes of one bare foot, his fingers tracing the length of the bare blade. When he turned towards the box occupied by the prince, the light of the candlesticks illuminated his white silk breastplate embroidered with blue gem threads and, between the lapels of his neckline, it was possible to distinguish an aquamarine with a galactic gold star in its inside.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Hyandawen's ice blue eyes lifted to meet Fëanáro's fiery gaze for an instant. The next second, the dancer was spinning, drawing spirals with<em> her</em> sword.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>……………………………</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro stopped when he reached the threshold. The door to the balcony was wide open; but he waited.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I owe you an apology, Your Highness," he began calmly. “I was rude in our last meeting. Especially after how generous you've been to me.”</p><p> </p><p>"It has been my pleasure, Helkemmírë," replied the prince, taking a few cautious steps forward. “Seeing you wearing the jewelry I have created for you is ... a delight.”</p><p> </p><p>"It's the least I could do to express my regret to you. I have not wanted ... to belittle your attentions. However, you must understand that ... that night I did not ... I did not mean for it to happen…”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Neither did I," he admitted, drawing closer and closer.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë put a hand to his throat and touched the gem. Fëanáro's gaze followed the caress of the long fingers, feeling it on his skin like a furrow of fire.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"You're right, Fëanáro," he confessed, lowering his voice to a low whisper. “I do want you. But I can't allow that desire to cloud my mind. I can't let your interest and my lust hurt mine. Nobody would see with good eyes that I -that someone like me had any relationship with you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Someone like you?” repeated Fëanáro now so close that his shadow covered Helkemmírë's face.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Hyandawen looked up, leaning one hand back. From below, his eyes roamed the prince's torso, wrapped in the dark red silk of his doublet. The black hair was braided at the temples to free the hair down to the middle of the back and a gold and ruby hoop adorned the lobe of his left ear.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"One of the Kemendili," he muttered with effort.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Without looking away, Helkemmírë followed the flowing movement with which the Crown Prince descended to one knee at his feet.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro spread his open hands before him; but he stopped before brushing against Hyandawen's joined knees.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Let me in, <em>mírya</em>," he asked in a low, clear voice. “You know you already made this decision. When you came to me in the storm, you already decided.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë's lashes fluttered. Makeup hid the blush that rose to his cheeks; but the pink on his ears and throat was visible to his companion.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As he did not move, Fëanáro took his attitude by assent and, pushing himself on the foot that he kept resting on the ground, he raised himself until his face was level with Helkemmírë's.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The kiss in which their mouths met was slow and voracious, a fire that consumed from within, entangling their breaths and desires.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë went to meet the prince, forgetting all his reluctance, his fears. With one hand, he grasped the fabric over his broad chest — just above his heart — and with the other, he tied off the thick loops.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro let himself be dragged, leaning over Helkemmírë as he rested his hands on <em>her </em>knees to spread them slightly, making room for himself. He moved away from the parted mouth to move with wet kisses to the naked lobe. He nibbled and licked the curve of <em>her</em> ear, ascending to the streamlined tip. He returned to trace a trail of hungry kisses along the arched throat, always down, to where the silk lapels overlapped.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Hyandawen leaned back, lost in a haze of longing. His skin burned under the layers of clothing, shuddering from the heat that was released from Fëanáro and the possibility of feeling him. For an instant, the fears returned; but with a silent growl he buried them under a layer of ice and parted his thighs, making room for the other elf.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The prince groaned deep in his throat as he felt Helkemmírë give way - at least a little. Spreading an inch apart, he moved his hands along <em>her</em> shapely legs and caught the edges of the misty blue skirt. Slowly, he slid his fingers up, tracing the firm calves, drawing the knees ... without ceasing to draw with his lips the edge of the choker that he himself carved, the curve of the jaw, the chin raised to give him better access.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë's eyes closed as Fëanáro bent over his body like a panther over his prey, ready to take his breath and his dreams. He imagined the moment their bare skins touched - how the prince's hot tanned skin would unleash cracks of anticipation and promise in his taut white skin. Fëanáro's fingers twitched slightly on his thighs, fingernails scratching on the inside, drawing closer…</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“No! Stop!”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It took Fëanáro a moment to understand how Helkemmírë was pushing him away with the force of someone used to wielding swords for more than showing off. Only years of physical exercise kept Fëanáro from falling to the ground when Helkemmírë fled from him to the other end of the bedroom.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>However, Helkemmírë did not go far. When Finwë's son stood up to follow him, the kemendil was already turning toward him, as if distance caused him physical pain.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I don't want you to hate me," Helkemmírë confessed with determination.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro frowned, not understanding.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I don't want you to look at me with-with disgust… with contempt. I want you to remember me like this. I want to be someone beautiful and perfect for you. I want you to think of me as now: with admiration, with desire ... as if I were a star.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The crown prince closed the distance between them.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Do you really think that once we have sex I won't want to hear from you anymore?" asked Fëanáro with a half smile. “Do you think I'll forget you just like that, Helkemmírë? What will be enough for me once ... or ten ... to be satisfied with you? Do you think I'll regret it later, <em>elenya</em>?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He had come to his side and, reaching out a hand, slid his knuckles along the curve of Helkemmírë's jaw, barely brushing against it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë narrowed his eyes, reveling in the words, in the caresses. Immediately, he forced himself back away.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"You don't know what you're wanting, Fëanáro," he declared, turning his face away. “You don't know who ... <strong><em>what I am</em></strong>.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He put a hand to his face. The white paint had faded from the lips and Helkemmírë felt his mouth, swollen from kisses, too bare. He took a step away from Fëanáro.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The crown prince's arm encircled his waist and he jerked back. Helkemmírë fell against the prince's body, his back resting on the broad, muscular chest. Fëanáro's breath caressed his neck as his fingers untied the two clasps that closed the breastplate on his abdomen. The silk and lace capes came loose and the prince's hand descended between the folds.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë groaned, writhing between longing and fear. Trying to flee, he pressed his butt against Fëanáro's pelvis. The prince's erection fit perfectly between the kemendil's buttocks, even through the various garments: the touch unleashed a shiver of need in Helkemmírë's body, until it throbbed in his own sex.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A gasp of surprise escaped Hyandawen's lips, who opened his eyes. Fëanáro's open hand covered his sex, tracing the long, hard shape through his clothing.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I've always known who you are, Helkemmírë," Fëanáro murmured in his ear. “I want to see you. I want to feel you naked against me. I want to meet the warrior hidden in your ballerina’s clothes.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>For a few seconds, Helkemmírë remained imprisoned in the arms of Fëanáro as if frozen. Slowly, he shifted until the hug loosened and he turned to meet silver eyes.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“How…?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro cupped his face with one hand, gently and leaned closer to kiss him slowly. He explored  his mouth like it was the first time, holding his lower lip between his teeth.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Why don't you just accept that we were destined to meet?" He inquired against his lips.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the scent of leather and citrus that the prince exuded. Encircling Fëanáro's wrist with his fingers, he leaned forward to be the one to initiate the kiss this time.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When the kemendil backed away, they were both panting. Helkemmírë finished undoing the snaps on the top of his attire, then let the jacket slide down his arms. He continued with the bow that tied the skirt to his waist. When the upper garments - of a grayish blue hue - were in a bundle at his feet, he proceeded to shed the two layers of white clothes.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro watched in a trance as Helkemmírë shed his clothes, in a scramble of lace and silk.</p><p>Finally, the kemendil was left standing in the middle of a pile of garments accumulated at his feet. With the funeral makeup smeared over his face and dressed only in loose linen pants and a crew-neck shirt, Helkemmírë looked like he had just emerged from his teens. His body was slender and lean, with softly drawn muscles under pale skin.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The prince looked over at him, feeling the fire burn more intensely in his veins. Through the semitransparent fabric, Helkemmírë's cock stood erect, hungry. Fëanáro approached him with feline steps. He wrapped an arm around his waist, resting his open hand on a firm, smooth glute. The other hand, the prince slid along the waistband of the pants, caressing the gently marked belly. Fingers moved under the garment and found the wet end of the cock.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë rested both hands on Fëanáro's chest. His breath failed him as he felt the caress at his most sensitive point. With a hiss, he closed his eyes and leaned his head on the prince's shoulder.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro put his whole hand under his partner's clothes and took the throbbing sex in his palm, stroking it slowly, up and down, playing with his thumb in the wet hole. Helkemmírë shuddered against him, thrusting his hips and with effort, the prince drew back slightly. He took the edge of the younger elf's shirt with both hands and lifted it up his torso.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The young Kemendil allowed himself to be stripped of his last garments. Now, he was finally completely naked before Fëanáro's lustful gaze.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Finwë's son's eyes caressed the white skin. Helkemmírë, knowing what he was looking for, raised his arms above his head and turned slowly. Down the right side of the body, descending from the armpit to the hip, a line of red and blue stars traced a path. The pattern was repeated in the back, between the shoulder blades, descending towards the slope between his buttocks. Twin stars adorned the thighs from behind. When Helkemmírë saw him face to face again, Fëanáro's eyes fell down his naked torso, to the stars that crowned the characters of a name.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Míriel's son approached the kemendil, who did not change position - with his arms raised. With his gaze fixed on the younger's face, Fëanáro touched with his fingers the almost silver mark on Helkemmírë's lower belly.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Arakáno," he whispered. “Is it your name?”</p><p> </p><p>"It is," he agreed without hesitation.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A predatory smile curved the crown prince's mouth and he lunged for his lover's parted lips.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Arakáno squirmed in the prince's embrace. With his free hands, he unbuttoned and tugged at the royal robes until he was able to push them over Fëanáro's shoulders. The prince helped him while he touched as much as he could of the naked body that was struggling in his arms. At last, Fëanáro stepped back, panting, kicking his hose and boots in one fell swoop, standing in all his glorious nakedness before the gaze of blue silver that devoured him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They kissed passionately again. Now their sexes rubbed together in the heat of each other. Helkemmírë lifted one leg and encircled the prince's hips, who slid a hand to hold him below the thigh, pressing against him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro pushed the other slightly, seeking to lead him to the bed. However, Helkemmírë lowered his leg and placed both feet on the ground while pulling the prince. Before Fëanáro understood his lover's intentions, they both descended until Helkemmírë was lying on his back on the floor.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Míriel's son left the mouth that was passionately kissing and knelt between the kemendil's thighs, resting his hands on the sides of his body, on the cold slabs.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë shrugged slightly, flirtatiously. Fëanáro looked down from the face where the paintings left traces of pale skin exposed. His eyes like carbuncles roamed the neck adorned by the choker, the oval stone that rested at the junction of the clavicles, the flat chest of soft chiseled muscles where the nipples stood out in a dark pink, the abdomen marked by training, the erect cock ... The prince's gaze lingered on the virile member: beautiful. The only word that came to Fëanáro's mind was 'beautiful'.</p><p> </p><p>He had had male lovers before. He had learned to value the beauty of both sexes since he was a teenager and although his first glimpses of male beauty was that of the Maiar, Fëanáro admitted that Arakáno's beauty surpassed anyone he had seen before. Between the white thighs, his phallus rose naked, without hairs to crown its base. The column of pearly flesh was rather long and its thickness was not yet fully mature. The tip curved slightly towards the belly, drawing the gaze to the smooth head, from whose small eye a pearl drop oozed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Through long lashes, Helkemmírë watched Fëanáro descend on his sex like a hungry tiger. The prince's mouth opened to give way to the tongue that traveled the entire head of the phallus, slowly, with delight, savoring flesh and fluids, leaving a trail of moisture.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro parted his lips further and took the cock in his mouth, deep, until he felt the pressure on his throat. His teeth brushed against firm flesh and a hoarse groan sounded above him. He opened his eyes as he let the cock slide until he only held the tip between his lips. He sucked hard.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Arakáno gasped, groaned, cursed through clenched teeth, and twisted to bury a hand in the prince's thick hair. He pulled the tangled mane around his fingers, forcing Fëanáro to stare at him, through the mist of passion and longing vibrating between them.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Later," he pleaded hoarsely. “Later, Fëanáro. Now ... I want you inside me now.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A thrill of pleasure and anticipation stirred the prince's powerful body. His muscles rippled under his brown skin as he straightened to lie over the kemendil's shuddering body and claim his mouth. After a few seconds, they backed away just enough space for their tongues to keep tangling out of their mouths. He raised a hand and slipped a finger into the knot of their tongues.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë devoured the finger in his mouth without waiting for directions. He licked and sucked as he had nights before with the prince's cock: in response, Fëanáro fluttered his hips, pushing his rigid sex against the kemendil's.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Moisture spilled between them, lubricating their cocks together and Fëanáro gasped under his breath. He tore the finger from Arakáno's attentions and poked that hand between the younger elf's thighs, searching until the tip of his finger pressed against the tight entrance.</p><p>Arakáno rose on his heels, easing him access, breathing with his whole body to relax. The prince's finger entered him up to the second phalanx, forcing, warning, promising. The kemendil moved to meet him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro growled, showing his teeth, his gaze devouring Helkemmírë. The young elf moved up and down on his fingers - two now - seeking depth.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"No…" Arakáno moaned breathlessly when his lover pressed a third finger. “No more… come in… come in now. I want…”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As if he needed to say it. Fëanáro could feel in his very skin, in his very belly, in his very fëa what Arakáno wanted ... as much as he did. He jerked his hand away and stood on his knees between the kemendil's legs. He took his cock in his hand and guided himself against the throbbing hole.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>At first, Helkemmírë's body resisted; but slowly, always pushing, Fëanáro advanced within him. The narrow passage pressed his cock until it caused pain and the prince bit his lower lip, moaning impatiently, always without stopping. Beneath him, Helkemmírë arched as if to escape; but, digging his nails into Fëanáro's shoulders, he pushed himself onto the hard shaft.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A groan erupted from both of them when there was no space between them. For an instant, their bodies remained taut, united, perfect. Their gazes held as if they had finally met and in each other's eyes, each one saw the melody they were looking for.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro moved, backing away to stab at the warm sheath that wrapped around his cock. Arakáno came to meet him, firmly, billowing below him like a tide of silk and wind.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The prince was carried away. There was no need to be careful - he didn't have the self-control for it either - Arakáno would take whatever he gave him: pain, pleasure ... iron or fire.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They spun on the ground, changing positions. Helkemmírë straddled Fëanáro's hips, his cock buried deep inside him. The prince's hands rested on his hips - a thumb brushed the end of the name engraved on the <em>sarati</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Arakáno.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>The name rolled in their bones, like a song of fire, like liquid iron.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><em>Fëanáro</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The ice of the stars sang in response, drawing swirls in the blood of the two elves.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Leaning forward, Arakáno covered with his hand the name written in fiery flashes over the heart of Míriel's son. Fëanáro arched into the caress <em>- the claim</em> - and time unraveled into threads of music, fire and ice in and out of them as they rose to ecstasy.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>First, I want to apologize for the delay in updating. My laptop crashed, it got promoted - I'm still not sure it's a good thing - which takes more work and my inspiration is absent.</p><p>I had planned that this specific chapter would be much more special and in the end it did not turn out as I expected, although I managed to capture some small details important for the development of the story.</p><p> </p><p>On the other hand, if there is anyone reading this who also reads my other outstanding stories, please be patient. I don't plan on abandoning any stories - most are designed until the final chapter - but I decided to focus on one story per fandom and leave a little time to dedicate to my originals among all the work I now have. And I'm done complaining.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. 1.18 Fear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ailinel got to her feet and walked slowly out of the pool. The water spun in circles as she passed. Her white skin glowed softly, wet. The drawings on her arms looked refreshed after bathing. She paused for a moment at the edge of the pool to take a gray silk hopal with garnet embroidery around the edge and covered her nakedness, arranging her wet hair over one shoulder.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She walked over to a rock, the top of which had been pierced to create a kind of bowl, and took the jug of wine to serve herself in a jar made of animal horn.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Welcome, <em>osellë</em>," she said after taking the first drink, turning in place to face the female crossing the threshold.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Lady Morivanessë stopped, smiling and bowed gracefully before advancing again. Braided hair and sumptuous attire combining Vanyarin fashion with twilight memories in shades of jade and silver accentuated the slenderness of the <em>sikilwendë</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ailinel took another drink and handed his glass to the newcomer. Morivanessë accepted the offer and drank deeply before approaching until she could embrace the Singer.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When they parted to look at each other, hands clasped together, Ailinel pulled Morivanessë toward the cushions that were piled high on the mottled skin of a beast spread out on the floor.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"It took you a while to come, <em>Morya</em>," Ailinel pointed out, leaning back on the pillows indolently.</p><p> </p><p>"My house is always full, <em>helin</em>," Morivanessë apologized, a soft smile curving her dark lips.</p><p> </p><p>"So I hear. The <em>Nenihíni</em> have a lot to say about your home and your… visitors.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Lady Morivanessë raised both eyebrows. Throwing her head back, her dark eyes escaped her hostess's face.</p><p> </p><p>The Singer sensed her visitor becoming defensive and held back a sigh.</p><p> </p><p>"It was not a reproach, Morivanessë," she declared, sitting upright and reaching out to take the other female's. “Your home makes us proud. <strong>You make me proud</strong>. No matter how long and tedious the sermons of Manwë or how blinding the fruits of Varda are, you remain perfect, as when you tore the hearts of our enemies and offered them to Mother Earth. You are a haven of dark beauty in this hell of light.”</p><p> </p><p>"Careful, <em>helin</em>," Morivanessë asked her, and with her free hand, she covered the Kemendili Singer's mouth. “The Aratar have ears everywhere, and one day they may decide that your words are no longer harmless protests from a madwoman.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ailinel pouted behind the palm that covered her lips. With an effort, she dropped her shoulders and nodded silently. Only then did Morivanessë withdraw her fingers, not before lightly stroking the red-lipped mouth.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"You needn't worry, sister," the lady said quietly. “My children and I follow the song of the earth, and we will not let anything disturb our peace in The Lakes.”</p><p> </p><p>"And even though you speak like that, I feel your spirit shudder with anxiety," Ailinel commented. “Speak to me, <em>Morya</em>, what stirs your soul as if the hunters were after you?”</p><p> </p><p>“My son. Arakáno,” sighed the <em>sikilwendë</em>. “I think the time may have come when his song differs from ours.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The Singer of the Kemendili did not move at her companion's words. Gently narrowing her eyes, she looked down at the still water in the well.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"You knew this day would come, <em>Morya</em>," she whispered.</p><p> </p><p>"I have not come to reproach you, <em>helin</em>," declared the other, with a resigned smile. “Among all the things that Cémi gave me was not that my belly bore fruit, no matter how much my spirit desired it. Arakáno is my son as no other could have been and I am grateful to you for that. It is always difficult when the children go away. Although we hunt like them, we are not beasts that throw their young from the nest when they reach adulthood.”</p><p> </p><p>"Perhaps we should be more like birds and less like wolves, clinging to blood ties until someone ends up with a ripped throat," Ailinel hissed grimly.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Morivanessë chuckled and the Singer smiled, amused by her own senseless bitterness.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry, <em>osellë</em>," she said then. “I wish the melody in my blood was as powerful as the one that unites you to those who do not carry yours.”</p><p> </p><p>"You have much more family than the one that turned its back on you to worship the light of the Trees, Ailinel."</p><p> </p><p>"You did not come to hear my complaints about my ungrateful nephew," Ailinel sighed, shrugging. “Tell me, sister, why do you think Arakáno is moving away from you? As far as I know, he has rejected Sercemaica's marriage offer and dispatched Aicecet.”</p><p> </p><p>"Don't pretend ignorance, <em>helin</em>." The sikilwendë rolled her eyes. “It doesn't fit you. You know that the son of Serindë frequents the House of Swords and has climbed the stairs to my son's chambers on more than one occasion.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ailinel raised an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"The Valadurion Prince is married."</p><p> </p><p>"Fëanáro is as valadur as you are a Eruhínë," Morivanessë growled.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Her retort caused Ailinel to burst out laughing.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“But he is still married to Nerdanel. Arakáno will not abandon his freedom to become the dirty secret of Finwë's brat.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Morivanessë made an impatient gesture at her old friend's disinterest.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"The stars have called Arakáno since he was a baby. The stars sing for him and you know it.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"As swords sing too," Ailinel replied impatiently and rose to her feet. “As also the masks sing. Arakáno is an elf of many paths; but he won't walk them all. Not in this life.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Her words, instead of reassuring the other, increased her apprehension.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"What have you seen, Ailinel?" she demanded, standing up to chase her friend. “Speak up, woman! Have you seen the melody of my Arakáno interrupted?”</p><p> </p><p>"He's not your Arakáno," the Singer objected, turning in front of her. “It was not you who gave him that name.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Pain crossed the dark eyes of the <em>sikilwendë</em>, who withdrew her hand that was reaching out to take Ailinel's arm.</p><p> </p><p>“I don't have the power to give a name, Ailinel; you don't need to remind me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Nonsense. Arakáno is and always will be Helkemmírë among us. And all I wanted to say is that even the life of the Eldar is not enough to walk all the paths that music outlined for your son. Why think that precisely the one with the stars will be the one he chooses in the end?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because his maternal name pushes him towards them.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ailinel avoided Morivanessë's questioning gaze. She remembered that day, so many years ago, when Rúmil arrived at her cave, carrying a small bundle hidden in his clothes. Ailinel remembered holding the bundle in her arms, looking into the blue diamond eyes... and seeing the stars dance as if they were alive in the child's blood.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Arakáno is tied to the House of Finwë," Morivanessë whispered, almost afraid to speak the words.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The Kemendili’s Singer finally turned to look at her friend. Gently, she raised a hand to caress the hawk-like face.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Aren't we all, <em>Morya</em>? Didn't we promise to follow those who wear the stars on their skin?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Morivanessë threw her head back; but not enough to avoid the caress of the other female.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"You say that one day Arakáno will mark the path that we will all follow."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ailinel blinked, stunned by her friend's suspicion. Clenching her hand into a fist, she wanted to be able to pick up the words she had uttered carelessly.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Masks," Morivanessë whispered, a veil of abstraction covering her eyes. “Nobody wears more masks than those who play politics ... Swords. All our leaders were enshrined in the dance of swords, our protectors… Ailinel? Is my son the future leader of our people? Will Arakáno guide us back ...?”</p><p> </p><p>“I do not know what are you talking about!” Ailinel interrupted her and this time it was she who reached out a hand to cover her friend's mouth. “I do not know what fantasies you babble, Morivanessë, and you should be careful to repeat them where inconvenient ears hear them. If there are stars in your son's path, it is only because he is tied to the house of Finwë, to Fëanáro! ... And you already saw how. Do not fear for Arakáno: it will not be Fëanáro's passion that will keep him from you.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>…………………… ..</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Finwë's features did not change as he read the document the Captain of the Guard handed him.</p><p> </p><p>"Hyandawen," he muttered as he finished reviewing the report. “An interesting name,” he admitted, looking up.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Narmacil, who had remained near the door and at a safe distance, at last took a few steps toward the desk behind which the sovereign sat.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I understand this is her<em>epessë</em>, Your Majesty," the captain clarified.</p><p> </p><p>"Ah. And, her real name?”</p><p> </p><p>"No one knows it outside of close family."</p><p> </p><p>"You know her family, then."</p><p> </p><p>“It is claimed that she has family ties to Lady Morivanessë; however, it is known in the Lakes that the <em>sikilwendë</em> only has two recognized sons.”</p><p> </p><p>"Only sons?"</p><p> </p><p>"Laurefindil is the youngest. The eldest does not participate in the public events of the House of Swords.”</p><p> </p><p>"Laurefindil?" The king repeated, remembering.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Narmacil licked his lips, hesitating.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"You will remember him by the name of… Nárilotë, my lord."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Finwë finally showed his surprise.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Oh. Castamir's daughter. Is she the son… the daughter… of Morivanessë?”</p><p> </p><p>"Her son, Your Majesty. Legally, Laurefindil is… male, by Kemendili’s law.”</p><p> </p><p>"Not according to the Laws of the Valar, Narmacil," the king reminded him dryly. “We will deal with the different ways in which Ailinel's followers violate our laws on another day. Now, back to what interests me ... have you seen that Hyandawen? Is she really so beautiful as to cajole my son?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The captain frowned.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I have not visited the House of Swords personally, my lord. The comments state that Hyandawen is an incomparable creature, with the fierceness of a warrior and the beauty of one of our ladies; but her face ... normally, she hides it under the ritual paintings of the Kemendili.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Finwë narrowed his eyes suspiciously.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I want you to go there and find out what that female is like," he decided, standing up with his hands clasped behind his back. “I want to know everything about that Hyandawen. I want to know each step she has taken, the names of her lovers, the relationship that binds her to Morivanessë and Ailinel, who her friends are ... what food she prefers. I want to have all the data before proceeding with that female.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Narmacil bowed that the monarch did not see. Standing up again, he slightly frowned before venturing out to inquire:</p><p> </p><p>"Majesty, then, must I not approach the lady yet?"</p><p> </p><p>Finwë pursed his lips, half turning his head over his shoulder.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I'll let you know when to contact that female. You may withdraw, Narmacil, and as always, I want absolute discretion on this matter.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>* Morya: dark, nickname of Morivanessë.<br/>* helin: pansy<br/>* Nénihíni: Children of the Water, Néniel and Nendil, the twins.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. 1.19 Burning softly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First of all, this chapter does not add anything to the main plot: I mean it! It's just a chapter for the pleasure of writing sexy moments among my precious elves. You're free to ignore this update if you wish.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With the dark muslin curtains drawn, the bedroom was plunged into a pleasant gloom resembling that of a grotto. If the breeze stirred one of the cloths, a ray of silver light seeped into the room, causing the sparkles to jump from steel to jewels in a swift dance.</p><p> </p><p>On top of an armchair and around it on the floor, various pieces of clothing swirled in confusion, the soft painted silks mingling with the velvet of Noldorin clothes.</p><p> </p><p>The semitransparent curtains also surrounded the bed, deepening the darkness within.</p><p>A gust of breeze stirred the curtains in the bedroom, letting Telperion's decaying light shine through, and the glints of the swords on the table reflected off the silver stars pinned to the bedposts.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro's eyes narrowed as the gleam of metal played briefly over his face. For a moment, he was still, the feeling of familiarity seeping into his bones, into his stomach. The comfortable darkness, the distant murmur of the water, the weight of his head on his chest, the cool pressure of a body against his, the flashes of swords hanging from the walls ... every detail was imprinted on his blood and his spirit through of years - centuries. Another gust of breeze, a second ray of light, and Fëanáro shivered slightly, awakening from his reverie.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Opening his eyes fully, he recognized Helkemmírë's bedroom and his hand closed slightly to brush the tips of his fingers over the delicate curve of one shoulder. He lowered his eyes.</p><p>His left arm was under the curve of the kemendil's neck, whose head rested on the prince's chest, just above the mark of his name. Raven's hair half-covered Helkemmírë's body, and Finwë's son realized that it was the first time that he had been able to appreciate his full beauty: abundant and smooth, the hair descended like a mantle, extending to below the knees, curling slightly at the ends, revealing pieces of skin like alabaster.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro moved his free hand to brush his fingers over Helkemmírë's shoulder. It went down the arm that rested flexed on his abdomen, following the line drawn by a discarded train. He returned from the wrist to the shoulder, but only to slide his fingertips down the curve towards the torso, tracing the side of the body, extending to the slightly elevated hip.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A protest sound - similar to a muffled purr - came from the sleeping elf. Helkemmírë stirred, clinging closer to the prince's body, crossing one leg over his. Fëanáro smiled at the gentle pressure of his lover's sex. Leaning down a little, he pressed his lips to the younger elf's crown. Slowly, he placed light kisses on the black hair, tracing a path to the line of the forehead. He continued to leave small kisses in the direction of the temples, the delicately tipped bare ear, the rosy lobe that he held between his teeth before touching it with his tongue ... The murmur of protest became a restrained moan and the thigh that rested on Fëanáro's legs pressed lightly, pushing down.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro smiled without letting go of his lobe. He sucked delicately before parting his mouth and went down his throat, parting his hair, bending over so he could press open kisses over the neck rope, toward his shoulder. Helkemmírë gasped and shifted to offer a better position for exploring his body, pushing himself onto the side of his body to arch back. Against Fëanáro's hip, the kemendil's sex awoke.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The prince ran his fingers down his lover's back, between jet locks, until they brushed the firm flesh of his rear. Still kissing and nibbling from neck to shoulder, he slid his hand cradling one buttock to finish slowly exploring between the two mounds of silk and muscle. His fingers found the satiny moisture, left over from hours of shared passion, and distracted themselves by spreading it, calmly spilling it onto the brief expanse of flesh between the testicles and the sphincter.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Ah… wait." Helkemmírë's short gasp caused Fëanáro to raise his head.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The kemendil watched him through curled lashes, gasping for breath through parted lips.</p><p>Desire roared in the Noldorin prince's underbelly, voracious as an insatiable beast. With a single movement, he pushed his lover onto his back and lunged for his mouth.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Arakáno received him eagerly. He returned the caress with teeth and tongue, entangling a hand in Fëanáro's dark mane, spreading his legs to make room against his body.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Their hard sexes clenched in the heat between their bodies. Instinctively, their hips mimicked the crescendo of their mouths. Short moans marked the cadence with which they launched into the whirlwind of ecstasy. The moment came when they could only breathe from each other, holding as close as they could without actually kissing, fingers twitching in inky hair, their hips thrusting frantically in desperate circles, their sexes wet with hunger and promise. They tensed together, with a broken groan, digging nails into shoulders and buttocks, the seed of both spilling mixed between their bellies.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro inhaled hard, slowly, filling his lungs with the scent of sex and sweat. Lids lowered, he leaned down to claim Arakáno's lips in a leisurely kiss.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Good awakening," he whispered, still brushing his lips swollen from his kisses.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Arakáno's mouth curved into a smile under his.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Good morning, Your Highness."</p><p> </p><p>"I can get used to waking up like this," Fëanáro commented.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë tilted his head back to peer at him through his lashes.</p><p> </p><p>“I hope not. Customs become routine, and routine is the end of passion.”</p><p> </p><p>"It only takes one of your wild dances to rekindle my passion."</p><p> </p><p>“Wild?” The kemendil repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Do you call me savage, crown prince?”</p><p> </p><p>"I call you 'my star.'”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The answer was impeded by another kiss, more passionate.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They pulled away as they both gasped and Helkemmírë gently pushed Fëanáro across the chest to push him away. The prince rolled onto his back and remained in the same position as the kemendil stepped over him to jump nimbly out of bed. Cocking his head, Finwë's son followed Helkemmírë with his eyes as he moved through the bedroom.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>With skill that demonstrated his practice, Arakáno combed the long hair with his fingers and braided it before wrapping it over his nape. He went to the screen at one end of the room and returned shortly with an earthenware bowl and cloth. He sat on the edge of the bed and holding the pot on his knees, he moistened the cloth in the basil-scented water.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro watched his movements, motionless. He didn't flinch when the cool fabric touched his face, wiping away sweat with the delicacy a mother or wife would use.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After cleaning the prince's face, Helkemmírë soaked the cloth again and proceeded to give the same treatment to the chest and shoulders before descending to the belly where perspiration and semen mixed. He thoroughly cleansed the firm abdomen, drawing the marked muscles, pressing on the navel.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro watched him as he did the work: his beaten silver eyes focused on the calm face, on the skill with which the hands treated him, on the relaxation of his body as he cleaned him, on the stars that adorned the mother-of-pearl skin. With a sudden twinge of jealousy, the prince wondered how many others he had done this for, how many of his lovers Helkemmírë had tenderly cared for with motherly patience after sex.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Don't bother thinking about things like that."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The crown prince frowned. It took him a second to realize that Helkemmírë had spoken in a calm voice.</p><p> </p><p>“What things?” he growled with inevitable gruffness.</p><p> </p><p>The lids lifted to reveal the icy glow of blue eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"How many lovers I had ... how many I treated like you now."</p><p> </p><p>“I do not…”</p><p> </p><p>"Your emotions are like a fire, my prince," the Kemendil half smiled softly. “You don't have to know yourself in depth to feel its warmth. Your jealousy burns.”</p><p> </p><p>"Shouldn't I be jealous?" Fëanáro snorted, irritated at being so obvious and amusing his companion.</p><p> </p><p>"No, you mustn't. And you cannot. I have not vowed to anyone," he reminded him with poisonous sweetness.</p><p> </p><p>“It does not bother you?” The prince ventured suspiciously.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Arakáno's hands stopped when they wrapped the wet cloth around the base of Fëanáro’s sex. His gaze returned to his face.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"And if it bothers me, if I'm jealous of your wife, what would change? Will you stop being bound to her? Will your vows turn to me?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro clenched his mouth on a hard line. He could not deny the Kemendil's words; but he refused to admit that he had no freedom to...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"I wish you were jealous, that you wanted me just for you."</p><p> </p><p>"Don't be selfish, <em>nárya</em>," Arakáno asked playfully as he resumed cleaning the prince's private parts.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The name unleashed a rush of desire in Fëanáro. His cock jerked, interested in the nearby touches and what the little word meant.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Would you come ... to my forge?" he asked in a slightly hoarse voice.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>A flash crossed the kemendil's blue eyes.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Do you invite me to your sanctuary?" he asked as he put the cloth inside the bowl to slide his bare fingers along the base of his half-erect sex. “Do you want to fuck me against your anvil, Your Highness? Lean over it... spread my legs... and fill me with your cock until I’m voiceless?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As he spoke, his fingers continued to stroke Fëanáro’s cock, almost diaphanously. Fëanáro narrowed his eyes, hissing through clenched teeth and naturally, he arched, raising his hips, seeking more of the touch that lingered on the tip of his sex.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Arakáno traced the outline of the phallus head with his fingertips. He repeated the action several times before circling the stiff flesh with his fingers, like a ring, and gently pulling downward, exposing the glans. He slid the tip of his thumb along the groove, lingering in the hole, pressing barely perceptible until a pearly drop melted against his fingertip.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro waved his hips. His cock was caught in Arakáno's light grip and at the tip, the kemendil's finger played delicately, spreading the first samples of moisture up and down the groove before continuing to paint the entire outline of the phallus head with light strokes. The scent of sex began to overflow again, stirring the prince's senses. Biting his lower lip, he held back the moan that rose to his throat and through half-closed lashes, he saw his lover release his member to put his thumb to his mouth, and lick.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The earthenware bowl crashed to the ground, spilling water and broken shards. Arakáno made a sound between laughter and surprise when Fëanáro jumped on him like a hungry beast, pushing him against the mattress, seeking his mouth to bite and claim.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>There was no delicacy in the force with which they attacked each other. There was no restraint in the momentum with which their mouths devoured as the hands explored with anxiety close to violence.</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro reached between their bodies and took his lover's cock with a firm hand. He jerked him off hastily, without contemplation, eliciting moans and hisses from the mouth he continued to plunder. Semen spilled onto his fingers as Helkemmírë rose on his heels, crying his climax in the prince's mouth. Fëanáro dipped his fingers in the thick seed and moved his hand under Arakáno's body, poking between his buttocks.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The thrust of the two fingers tensed the kemendil's body. With a gasp, he threw his head back and moved his lower body to accommodate himself in the penetration. He moved his hips - up and down - digging into his fingers hard, tightening the ring of muscles around his own seed.</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro narrowed his eyes, his cock stirring between them, his mouth parted in a prayer of lust as Arakáno fucked his fingers. With an effort, he snapped back to reality and waved his hand, thrusting only a few times before retreating.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Turn around," he commanded in a dark voice, backing away just a little.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Helkemmírë did not make him repeat it. Eyes veiled with pleasure and anticipation, he rolled onto one side of his body awkwardly, raising himself to his knees and elbows to turn his back to the prince, raising his rear.</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro's gaze traced the curve of his back, the firmness of his buttocks, the inviting darkness between them. He rose to his knees and with both hands he spread his athlete's glutes to lean over and drink from the throbbing hole. Helkemmírë shuddered and screamed. The tongue entered his body, like a tempting snake. Fëanáro savored him, sucking and nibbling, pushing with his thumb.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Time stopped. For endless minutes, Helkemmírë moaned and clutched the blankets under his hands as Fëanáro spread him open and devoured him. At last, Finwë's son stepped back and straightening up once more, pressed the wet end of his cock into the quivering hole.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Saliva and semen facilitated the advance of the thick shaft. Slowly. Fëanáro took his time to invade, to stretch the entrails that pressed against his hard flesh. He took him easy, moving forward without backing down, always filling a little more… until his pelvis rested on his open, hard buttocks. He remained still for a moment, licking his lips with each beat of Arakáno's body around his cock. When at last he moved, he did so in circular motions, without giving an inch, basking in how deep he reached, in the impossible heat that engulfed the head of his phallus.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They moved slowly, in concert, one charging and the other receiving. Without separating, they descended until they lay stretched out on the bed, sheets ruffled and the scent of sex enveloping them. On one side of the body, Fëanáro slipped a hand over Arakáno's hip and hugged his thigh from above, forcing him to spread his legs, to squeeze the sphincter around his cock.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As the crown prince and the kemendil rose slowly in the spiral of pleasure, Laurelin's light poured into the city of the Noldor.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Nárya: (q) my flame. I have used this affectionate name from Nolofinwë to Fëanáro before.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. 1.20 The shape of you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Once again, thanks to Nelly for taking her wonderful time and head to beta-ing this chapter.</p>
<p>I'm back and I'm not going to stop until this story is done ... because this is my favorite story.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nerdanel paused before entering the wing occupied by her husband. At the beginning of their marriage, they had shared these rooms as well as the workshop. However, after Tyelkormo's birth, Fëanáro had complained that children distracted him from his work. Nerdanel had moved into the rooms on the other side of the house, planning to stay there until the boys grew up. At least, that had been her idea. It didn’t exactly turn out as she had planned: she gave birth to Carnistir just two seasons after Tyelkormo’s birth, and Curufinwë had soon followed too. Though the children were now past the age of ruckus, Nerdanel had already settled into her new rooms and rarely visited her husband's chambers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Staring at the double-leafed door with eight-pointed stars studded throughout, the woman felt almost an intruder. It had been a few months since she had been in this part of the house and it was hard to forget that that visit had ended in an argument. Lately, she and Fëanáro only argued. It was as if the connection that once existed between them was no more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a time when she and Míriel's son had complemented each other. At his arrival at Mahtan's workshop, Fëanáro had been a withdrawn adolescent, immersed in his own world, only intent on learning. When his talent was exposed and surpassed the gifts of all the apprentices, the young prince became more open, more confident ... and it was then that he and Nerdanel began a friendship.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even being a few years older, Nerdanel had loved Fëanáro from the first moment. His fire had drawn her to him like light does to moths. She loved him with the same intensity after years and five children. She loved him as only a wife could. He was her husband, the elf to whom she was bound by an oath blessed by the Valar.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She pushed the door, finding it to be open, and the breath left her lungs with relief.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She found herself in the empty receiving room and determinedly advanced to the door that led to the cabinet. It was locked and she turned to the bedroom door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She had not taken a step when the door was opened from the inside and her husband emerged dressed for the forge. Nerdanel let her green eyes run over the elf's slender body. His dark cotton shirt was open to mid-chest, the laces untied, and his leather pants fitted his pelvis and legs like a second skin. Fëanáro wore his hair in a thick braid that rested across his back down to his waist.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seeing Nerdanel, the crown prince stopped short and frowned slightly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is something wrong?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nerdanel blinked, shaking off the attraction that her husband's physique exerted on her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Does something have to happen for me to come to your rooms?" she asked, disgust seeping into her voice. “Once, these were my rooms too. I'm your wife, do not I have the right ...?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It is too early, Nerdanel," Fëanáro interrupted, narrowing his eyes. “Say what you want. I am going to work.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“To work? Work on what?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The prince's frown deepened.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“On things. I am always working on something, you know. A project…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"A project," she repeated through clenched teeth. “Is that what you call making jewelry for your lover? A project?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> “What…?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It is all you do: jewelry, jewelry, jewelry for that ... female! Do you think I am an idiot? That I am blind? You have not done anything important in weeks, months! Just jewelry. Stupid, cheap, disgusting jewelry for her to wear on her naked body.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fëanáro narrowed his eyes. In something she was right: many of those jewels had been designed so that Helkemmírë would wear them without further adornment on his body; he had designed them to highlight the tattoos, to complement the stars that ran across Helkemmírë’s exquisite skin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh, by Varda Elentári!" Nerdanel's shriek cut through the images that came to the prince's memory. “How can you…? Are you not ashamed, Fëanáro? What kind of ... pervert are you? What has that female turned you into?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fëanáro's mouth twisted into a scowl.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You would not consider me a pervert if those jewels were for you," he shrugged.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>For a moment Nerdanel was too stunned to reply. Inside her, she recognized the truth of those words; but she would never admit it out loud.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I am not one of those...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Neither is she," Fëanáro interrupted. “You do not know what you are talking about. You do not know them. You cannot talk about someone you know not, that you do not understand...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She is a sinner, a violator of the most sacred Laws, and she drags you with her! The Valar will not remain indifferent to this immorality.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh Nerdanel, what does it matter to Manwë or Varda who I sleep with? Do not be silly. You always knew that one day I would find someone who could… complete me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nerdanel felt the sting of her tears. Her mother's words echoed condemnation in her head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you regret it? Choosing me, do you regret it?” she mused with effort.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fëanáro watched her in silence for a few minutes that seemed to drag on forever.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I do not. You are the mother of my children… and I would not want them different… I would not want others than them.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All energy left the she-elf's limbs. Mother. Mother of his children. Only mother of his children. For them, not for her. His children, not hers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I am your wife," she declared in a strangled voice. “I am your wife and you cannot take me away from you. It matters not… it does not matter how much you want to be bound to… that one; it is I… it is I to whom you are bound for all the Ages of Arda.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fëanáro clenched his jaw so hard that a nerve throbbed at his temple.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"An oath to the Valar means nothing, Nerdanel. I am bound to you for our children, for the children you gave me; but I am not tied to you. I am not tied to anyone.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Without waiting for an answer, he strode across the room and out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nerdanel backed away until she tripped over a chair and dropped into it. Burying her face in her hands, she finally let the tears flow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>…………………………… ..</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Laurelin's light was completely covering Tirion, close to its zenith. Fëanáro hated starting work so late, especially when the only reason for him wasting time was another of the silly - and increasingly frequent - arguments with Nerdanel.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had fond memories of the early years of marriage. As a young man barely coming of age, Mahtan's daughter had seemed the best choice for him. Determined, intelligent, talented, curious… Nerdanel Istarwen was the perfect companion to accompany him on his travels, in his projects. At the beginning, they had avoided pregnancy, immersed in the investigations that united them during the hours spent in the Aulendil workshops; but after a few seasons, Nerdanel had started wanting to get pregnant. It was the right thing to do, she had said; it was the natural course of a marriage, of any happy couple blessed by the Valar. Then Nelyo had arrived.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fëanáro had loved his son long before he saw him, from the moment he felt his seed unite with Nerdanel's in the female womb. Even if Nelyo had surprised him - all red curls and eyes like emeralds when he was expecting a baby with curls like black jet and eyes like stars, the child he had always been dreaming of. He had also loved his other sons when they arrived, and he had loved the female who brought them into the world, who had carried them in her womb. However, as his love overflowed into his children, the attraction he felt for Nerdanel had faded, had faded into gratitude and friendship. He had never loved her with that love that had dragged Finwë to the Gardens of Lorien for years, which had then brought him to Taniquetil to beg that he be allowed to remarry. No, he never loved Nerdanel like he thought he would love when he was an adult ... No, he had never loved Nerdanel like he thought, back when he was a child, that he would love as an adult</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looked up from the metal that he was hammering and, with a frown, tried to clear his vision. He pursed his lips as he realized that someone had entered the forge despite him closing the door to avoid company.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"The forge is not open," he said firmly, setting the hammer aside and circling the anvil.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The intruder had stopped at a work table and with his hands clasped behind his back, was inspecting the pieces on it. Fëanáro noticed that he was wearing a navy blue doublet with embroidered swirls and dark leggings that disappeared into soft leather boots with silver buckles. His clothes and his lustrous black hair, pulled back in a high ponytail, gave him away as belonging to Tirion's lower nobility.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Do you need something, boy?" Fëanáro insisted impatiently. “I'm busy and… If you are looking for someone to do a job for you, the Alley of the Goldsmiths is two blocks away and surely…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Your jewels are the best, but your swords are a mess… have you never wielded one?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fëanáro's jaw dropped when the visitor spoke lightly as he stood up, backing away from the table and turning in front of him. He blinked, stunned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"A-Arakáno…" he muttered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The other elf smiled mischievously.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Without makeup and in the garb of the son of a noble house, the Kemendil looked much younger and more laid-back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seeing that the prince stood in the same place, without moving, Arakáno pouted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I made a mistake," he said, with an awkward smile. “I should not have come here. I am sorry. It will not happen again. Good morning, Your Highness.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He spun on his heels hastily and took a step toward the door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What?” Fëanáro finally reacted and followed him with long strides. “No! Do not go! Stay. Please, Arakáno.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The younger man stopped and turned his head to look at him over his shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"As much as I like to hear you beg, I'm not sure you want me to stay. You did not seem to like my presence.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What nonsense are you saying?" The prince growled as he came to his side. Taking him by the elbow, he forced him to turn and wrapped an arm around his waist, bringing him closer to his body.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before Arakáno could respond, Fëanáro claimed his mouth in a passionate kiss, probing with tongue and teeth, licking and sucking on the lower lip until they both gasped, shuddering.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Now," Arakáno murmured hoarsely, "that is the greeting I expected."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You surprised me," Fëanáro confessed, resting his forehead on his.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Ah! So, your invitation from a few days ago was not sincere?” the other asked, throwing his head back to look at him suspiciously.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Of course it was! But you did not say if you would come ... and then you were away all those days ... and I ...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I came back last night. We celebrated a union in the caverns of Calacyria.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A wedding?” Fëanáro inquired, still hugging his lover gently.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Not how you understand it… but yes, a wedding."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Are there different ways of understanding a wedding?" Finwë's son raised an eyebrow ironically.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well ... there is more than one, Your Highness. But I'm still not quite convinced that you really wanted me here. I mean ... someone mentioned something about an anvil and ...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You," Fëanáro roared, tightening the ring of his muscular arms. “You mentioned the anvil and how you wanted me to fuck you against it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh… will you deny that you thought about it? Will you deny that you fantasized about it all these days that I was away?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fëanáro did not bother to answer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Arakáno burst into laughter - melodic and virile - when the crown prince turned him in his arms to kiss the naked nape of his neck as he guided him until he could recline slightly on the mentioned anvil.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I hope you closed the door," Fëanáro whispered into his ear, searching for the loops of the young Kemendil's breeches.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>…………………………… ..</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Findekáno pursed his mouth in a childish pout. When his father said he was going to the city, he never suspected that he was referring to visiting the Crown Prince's forge. He bit his lower lip thoughtfully. Laurefindil would have a lot to say when he found out… of course, Lauro would only find out if he told him because he doubted his father would tell his adoptive brother that he had come to visit Fëanáro.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He leaned against the wall, not looking away from the closed door of the building.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He never thought he would go this far. His father had had admirers of all genders for many years and none had come under his careful masks. For all, it was always Hyandawen who received them; but Findekáno was not mistaken: the one who came to look for the prince today was Arakáno, and let him be cursed if he did not understand what that meant!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Are you considering entering as an apprentice?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Findekáno spun around, startled by the stern voice that was trying to… joke? His blue eyes inevitably lit up as he discovered Maitimo watching him with his arms crossed in front of his chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Unless your august father's efficient tools produce music… I don't think this is my place."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maitimo raised an eyebrow and glanced around the closed forge.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"So what are you doing around here watching my father's forge so intently?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Spying on you?" The Kemendil shrugged. “Or waiting for you to show up to spy on you. What else could I do, my handsome prince of copper and steel?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A slight pink tint covered the prince's cheeks and ears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I do not think you were expecting me. Did you see someone enter the forge ...?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Are you accompanying me to lunch?" Findekáno asked hastily. “Since my spy job paid off, reward me by accepting an invitation to lunch. Consider it an investment in the future: the day might come when my surveillance and cover-up skills will serve you well, oh handsome prince with fire braids.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maitimo's mouth twisted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You talk too much."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Not as much as you in those ridiculous lectures at the Academy." The younger elf narrowed his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"How do you know that ...?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Like I said, my surveillance and cover-up skills might come to be useful to you. Follow me: I know where to eat delicious cream cheese.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maitimo still glanced around the forge, doubting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And goat cheesecake! You are going to adore it!” Findekáno insisted, already fifteen paces away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fëanáro's son finally followed him, shaking his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You are taking me to Liruliniel's post, right?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Uh… you know the one who makes the cakes is her brother Alkwarion, right? Liruliniel is the businesswoman; her brother is the one who inherited all the cooking talents from their grandmother.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"How do you know so much about the city? I thought the Kemendili did not ...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Again, my skills ...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maitimo laughed. Findekáno observed him out of the corner of his eye before joining him in laughter: he would worry later about his father's relationship with Fëanáro.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. 1.21 Beyond our bodies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No beta this time. I'm too tired and my e-mail is not working.<br/>If you see mistakes, please, point them out.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Arakáno stretched out, lazy as a cat. His naked body almost glowed in the soft gloom of the bedroom – the tattoos, marks of shadow and power on his pale skin.</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro stood up, propping himself up on one elbow, and bent his head to place light kisses like butterfly wings on his chest and belly.</p><p> </p><p>"I am awake," the Kemendil announced, his eyes still closed, waving under the influence of the caresses.</p><p> </p><p>The prince's mouth curved into a smile against his abdomen. Delicately, he held his lover's hips with one hand and bit lower, near the crotch, on the side of the star-intertwined name. A hiss that turned into a purr forced him to raise his head at last, but only after checking that the mark from his teeth remained. His gaze met the other elf's blue eyes, veiled by thick lashes.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you marking me, my prince?" Arakáno scoffed, an amused note in his hoarse voice.</p><p>"Would you mind if I did?" Fëanáro challenged, raising an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>The kemendil did not respond for a few minutes, still watching him. Fëanáro was beginning to frown when Arakáno let out a sigh and relaxed even more against his body.</p><p> </p><p>"I would not mind," he finally answered. “I do not plan on showing myself naked to anyone else in the days to come. And in case I do, whoever it is probably will not mind that I have a few marks to show."</p><p> </p><p>The weight that was beginning to lift from Finwë's son's shoulders came back heavier, almost painful. With an effort, he closed his eyes tightly, remembering where this topic took him last time he brought it up. Arakáno was right: the only one who was not free here… was him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Mhm… I love it when you get like this." The words came out of the younger’s lips in a whisper, lengthening the s's, thickening them. “Jealous… possessive… as if I were your most precious jewel.”</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro watched him with narrowed eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"Are you doing it to provoke me?"</p><p>"Not quite," Arakáno shrugged, and moving a little, he changed position to half sit between the pillows and face his lover. “Fëanáro… I am kemendil. The way I was brought up… the way I live my life, the way I understand love and sex… is very different from yours. Love is not born from obligation; it cannot survive when it is a duty. And sex…” He raised his left eyebrow, which gave a youthful and mischievous expression to his beautiful face. “Sex does not necessarily mean love, my prince.”</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro bit his lower lip, reflecting.</p><p> </p><p>"I can understand that, Arakáno," he admitted. “I know what you are talking about. But that does not make imagining you in bed with another man any less... irritating.”</p><p>"Or woman," Arakáno pointed out without hesitation.</p><p> </p><p>The prince blinked several times.</p><p> </p><p>“I am sorry. I thought you...”</p><p>"We are more alike than you think, <em>nárya</em>. I do not have a definite preference for my companions: as long as my heart and mind feel inclined, I will appreciate the qualities of that person regardless of their face... their mask.”</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro could not hide his confusion. Sitting on the bed, he crossed his legs in front of him and pondered his lover's words for a few minutes.</p><p> </p><p>“I do not know many of the customs of the Kemendili.  Almost everything I know about you is more… rumor and legend than real knowledge, with bases… Perhaps –perhaps I assumed… It is possible that I have made a wrong assumption about you, about your... role among the Kemendili.”</p><p> </p><p>A half-smile raised the left corner of Arakáno's mouth. The young elf sat across from the crown prince and crossed his legs, mimicking his position.</p><p> </p><p>The sensation of looking at a mirror that gave back the image of him filled Fëanáro's chest. Arakáno combed his hair like ink with his fingers, weaving it into a braid that rested on one shoulder and the prince took a deep breath, shaking off the shock.</p><p> </p><p>"My role among the Kemendili is undeniable, Your Highness," the Kemendil declared. “I am a <em>fëar atta</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro looked more confused than before.</p><p> </p><p>"I thought a <em>fëar atta</em> was what the Valaduri call… 'opposites.'”</p><p>"Mhm... ‘opposites’. Interesting word to define us. At least they use one: I thought they were simply denying our existence.” He shrugged dismissively. “However, the <em>fëar atta</em> are much more than those that your people call so peculiarly.”</p><p>"The Valaduri are not my people," Fëanáro replied too quickly.</p><p> </p><p>Arakáno raised a mocking eyebrow; but instead of answering him directly, he took up his explanation.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Fëar atta</em> contains many ways of being, of living… many faces of our people. We are diverse like snow crystals, each one different and all born from the same source. In a <em>fëar atta</em> two spirits generally coexist, but that does not specify which spirits or how they decide to show themselves. When the Valaduri speak of… 'opposites', they mean only those of us who were born in the wrong body. We are <em>fëar atta</em> because of how our spirit shows itself or what it chooses to love. My mother, Morivanessë, is the greatest of the <em>sikilwendi</em> who made the Great Journey: her spirit was born in a male body that denied her the privilege of carrying children in her womb, but it gave her the strength to protect our people from nightmares. My brother, Lauro, is a <em>vëalottë</em>: his body was born with feminine delicacy, but his spirit is that of a man who carries steel in his blood. There are some of us who not only have two spirits, but whose body is both male and female.”</p><p>"I have heard of them… the <em>nérnissi</em>, right?"</p><p> </p><p>Arakáno nodded.</p><p> </p><p>"They are very few ... I only know one <em>nérnissë</em> born in Aman."</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro restrained the curiosity that prompted him to inquire about the identity of that elf and concentrated on studying his companion.</p><p> </p><p>"I was confused by your comfort in your… role as Hyandawen. You looked so comfortable as a woman that I assumed you were <em>sikilwendë</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Quaptacendelë</em>. What I am is a ‘face-changer,’”  Arakáno laughed. “I am comfortable in both genders ... Although I enjoy being... Arakáno a little more. I can not often be myself. Not outside my house.”</p><p>"With your female lovers ... who are you?"</p><p>"Whom they prefer. Who feels comfortable in their company. Same for my male lovers. And both are less than you might imagine, ” he pointed out with an ironic pout. “I am the son of Massanië Morivanessë, Fëanáro. Do you really think that many people would dare to go up to my rooms?”</p><p>"I am counting on not," sighed the prince, almost ashamed of his possessive attitude. “I am not usually this way. I have had lovers and no... I have not demanded from them what I myself am not willing to offer. It is… different when I am with you. It has been different since I first saw you… since I heard your name, actually.”</p><p>“My name?”</p><p>“Helkemmírë. Lady Anairë was looking for a gift for you ...”</p><p> </p><p>Arakáno made a gesture of understanding.</p><p> </p><p>"I thought you came to meet me because of your son."</p><p>"I went to meet <em>Hyandawen</em>. I was curious to see the dancer who was causing so much commotion and who brought my poor Cano upside down.” Fëanáro smiled mischievously. “I could not imagine that my Helkemmírë and his Hyandawen were the same person.”</p><p>"I am not <em>his</em> Hyandawen any more than I am <em>your</em> Helkemmírë," Arakáno objected, raising his head proudly. “I am nobody's, Prince Fëanáro, because I am not a gem or a gift that you can claim or give to another.”</p><p>“I did not mean…</p><p>"That is the problem with you, the Valaduri. You think that for a little affection, a few nights spent together, some promises that you cannot even fulfill... you already own the other.” He leaned back between the pillows, uncrossing his legs to stretch them languidly. “What a mania you have for copying the attitude of your masters.”</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro frowned. For a second, he was about to be distracted by the beauty displayed before him; but the words spoken by his lover forced him to concentrate.</p><p> </p><p>"Are we talking about religion now? The Valar are not my masters.”</p><p>“Are they not? So why blindly follow their laws?”</p><p>"Does it seem like I do?"</p><p>"Why behave like them, claiming to possess someone?"</p><p> </p><p>Confusion swirled in disgust in the prince's gut. Growling slightly, he inquired, almost aggressive:</p><p> </p><p>"Would it be so wrong to belong to me?"</p><p> </p><p>Arakáno dropped his lids, hiding the silver gleam in his crystal blue eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"You... do you belong to someone, Spirit of Fire?"</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro raised his clenched fist to his mouth to hold back the hiss of anger.</p><p> </p><p>"Why do you want to tie me up ... clip my wings ... when you yourself refuse to admit that your laws bind you?"</p><p>“Do not be like that!” he finally exploded, and with one swift movement, he shifted to stand on his knees spread on either side of the kemendil's legs. “Do not be like that, Arakáno… Helkemmírë. You know… You know that I would tie myself to you if that were possible. You know what you do to me, how you feed and control the fire in my soul.”</p><p> </p><p>He leaned down, holding onto his hands resting on the mattress, and pressed a parted kiss to the young elf's hip.</p><p> </p><p>"You know how you tie me to you," he murmured against his skin, moving up the smooth belly, tracing gentle circles with his tongue between sentences. “Do you enjoy it? Do you enjoy having me like this? Pull-on me…? And then push me like the whole world is rising between us?”</p><p> </p><p>A short moan came from Arakáno's parted lips. His hands twitched between the sheets and his body rippled under the weight of the warm, wet caresses.</p><p> </p><p>"The world… rises between us," he replied with an effort, swallowing to secure his voice.</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro straightened up to bring his face up to his, and framing the young man's head with his forearms, he contemplated him with fierce desire illuminating his beaten silver eyes.</p><p> </p><p>"The whole world will never take me away from you, <em>elenya</em>," he said hoarsely.</p><p> </p><p>Arakáno's eyelids shot up and his eyes flashed as if the stars of Arda burned in their depths. His hands rose to grasp the crown prince's face, his fingers tangled in the black curls.</p><p> </p><p>"No promises, Fëanáro," he ordered. “I do not want promises that you will not be able to keep.”</p><p>"Arakáno...”</p><p>"No," the younger one insisted and, pushing himself, closed the prince's mouth with his own.</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro was carried away by the violence of the kiss that he demanded of him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>For a moment, they kissed desperately, with a hunger that never seemed to be sated. When they pulled away, their gazes met, equally dark and twinkling, flames and stars devouring from their depths.</p><p> </p><p>This time, it was Fëanáro who descended in search of the parted mouth of his mistress, but now the kiss was slow, deep, an exploration that devoured and fed in equal measure. Their bodies adjusted to the sinuous rhythm of their tongues and teeth, moving together, pressing and rubbing, fitting hard at slight angles.</p><p> </p><p>The Noldorin prince's hands slid down the sides of his slender torso, tracing from memory the lines that spoke of twilight rituals. His fingers dug into Arakáno’s hips before sliding to his thighs and urging them to spread, to make room for him in the inviting warmth of their embrace.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Arakáno received him inside him with a joyous groan. Without hesitation, he pushed himself to meet him, taking everything, adjusting to his size, welcoming the invasion as a part of himself.</p><p> </p><p>For an instant, neither of them moved. Buried in his lover's body to the root, Fëanáro narrowed his eyes and licked his lips, lost in the exquisite sensation of being so trapped in the encirclement of arms around his neck, legs around his waist, and pulsing insides girdling his sex. At last, he withdrew just a little and sank back fully, drawing another incoherent gasp from the kemendil. He lowered his head and pressed his lips under Arakáno's bare ear.</p><p> </p><p>“I never felt this before," he confessed in a dark voice. “I never felt like this… Being inside you… is like being at home.”</p><p> </p><p>He accompanied his words with languid thrusts that sought the center of the other elf.</p><p> </p><p>Arakáno arched, offering more, taking more. His nails ripped furrows in the prince's back, pressing him against him, inviting him to sink where no one else would ever reach. His lungs burned, his hot breath gushing out in broken moans that marked the increasing rhythm of the thrusts inside him.</p><p> </p><p>"Do not you feel it, <em>elenya</em>?" Fëanáro groaned before sinking his teeth into his shoulder to immediately kiss the almost bleeding mark. “Do not you feel me deeper... deeper than ...?”</p><p>“Yes! Arakáno yelled, and his voice broke into a breathless laugh. “So deep... It's like ... as if you fuck my soul, nárya ... from within ... from me ...”</p><p> </p><p>The words collapsed into moans, desperate sobs. The swaying of his bodies shook the bed, made the hot air tremble in the little bedroom.</p><p>Fëanáro did not hold back. He allowed all hunger to spill over into violent thrusts that nearly doubled the body of his lover, lifting him from the bed. With an impatient roar, he rose to his knees, holding Arakáno on edge, and pushed forward.</p><p> </p><p>Arakáno hissed, showing his fangs in a grimace, as his back collided with the wall; but he did not loosen his embrace around the body of his companion.</p><p> </p><p>His gazes met, feverish. They did not form words... nor did they need them. They both felt the other inside, so woven into their own fëar that even formulating thoughts was a waste of time.</p><p> </p><p>Pleasure exploded in unison, tensing muscles, wetting hides, blinding and illuminating their souls.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Long minutes passed before Fëanáro backed away and Arakáno loosened his grip on him. They settled back on the bed together, hugging each other without paying attention to the sweat and semen that was drying on them.</p><p> </p><p>Fëanáro forced the kemendil to rest his head on his chest and pressed his lips to his black hair.</p><p> </p><p>"Say it again," he whispered. “The thing about fucking your soul... It is the most beautiful thing I have heard in my life. And it is also the most beautiful thing I have ever felt.”</p><p> </p><p>Arakáno giggled sleepily.</p><p> </p><p>"The 'spirit of fire' is a cheesy teenager," he crooned mockingly.</p><p>“I am not…”</p><p>"We call it 'spiritual sex.' And as beautiful as it feels, it is basically that: soul fucking.” He shifted his position slightly so he could look his lover in the face: a serene silver light illuminated his blue eyes. “I thought I would never feel that ... You are the first to reach so deep in me, Fëanáro.”</p><p> </p><p>Finwë's son ignored how his heart raced uncontrollably.</p><p> </p><p>"I plan to stay there forever," he declared hoarsely.</p><p> </p><p>Arakáno raised an eyebrow in amusement.</p>
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